


Phone Calls

by Lakeylou



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakeylou/pseuds/Lakeylou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzie and Red finally share a phone call after months apart. Twelve chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Blacklist or the characters.

The first time they have a phone call Lizzie finds it hard to stay on the line.

She wasn’t expecting to miss his voice quite so much and have such a reaction.

She wasn't expecting to miss him so much. 

She expected it to take some time to adjust to her new life back in DC. She expected that she would have to ease herself back into working for the bureau. Then, after a month of two, she expected to feel comfortable here.

But she really, really, didn’t expect to find her insides twisting at the sound of his voice. It wasn't butterflies, no. It was more dark and strong and intense. And it settled in her belly all through the call, after the call, during her sleep and stayed there during the next day. It’s a nice feeling, though. It’s scary and pointless, but very nice. She thinks that it’s the best feeling she’s had in four months.

She wonders why she’s never called him.

Even though she missed him, it didn’t mean she had the nerve to tell anyone, or call the number he had left her. She’s held the little piece of white paper in her hand often. Just a number in black print. His hand writing, neat and smart-looking. Maybe if he had written, ‘call me any time’ or, ‘please call, Lizzie’, she would have. But it was just a number. He didn’t even sign it with his name.

It had been four months since Red gave her the number. Was it even his number? She can barely remember what he said when he passed it to her. He peeled open her clenched fist and slipped it in her hand. They were hugging, kind of. A one armed sort of hug because if she had wrapped both arms around him she’s not so sure she would have let him go. Dembe was also watching along with Mr Kaplan, so she refrained from making too much of a scene.

‘Just in case.’ He said.

Just in case what? That she found herself in danger again? Does ‘just in case’ mean it’s perfectly fine to call him and see how he is? Does it mean that when she’s had a bad day at work she can call him? When she’s laying in bed and she’s restless and upset? He didn’t give her any rules, but she assumed it meant for emergencies. He could have said, ‘just in case you feel like a talk.’

She would have rung him if he said that. Probably rung him too many times and perhaps that's why he didn't say 'anytime'.

The months seem a lot longer since his departure. It has nothing to do with the long, summer hours and everything to do with the fact that she thinks about him way too much. Even at work when Cooper’s giving orders and she should be listening. Even when she wants to be listening. She was at work when Dembe called. It was a Monday afternoon and they had just wrapped up a case which Dembe was pleased to hear. He had helped a lot with tracking down the suspect even though it was only through phone calls. It wasn’t a big surprise when Dembe called, but it was a surprise when he said he would get Red to call her. 

Dembe would get Red to call her? Couldn't Red get himself to call her?

"There's no need, Dembe. I'm fine."

"You ask how he is every time."

"Yes. And you answer and it's great."

It's all she needs, she thinks.

"I think he would like to speak to you." Dembe tells her.

"You think?"

"I know he would."

"Well... he has my number."

"And you have his."

Lizzie thinks that she's managed four months without Red. She doesn't need to speak to him, she tells Dembe. But then there's managed and then there's enjoyed . Two very different things.

And how well has Red managed being away from her? She guesses he's probably kind of use to it.

 

It’s a Friday night when they have their phone call, or early Saturday morning. It's Aram's birthday and Liz is out with the team and a few of Aram's closest friends. It's a little after one in the morning when she decides it is probably time to make her way home. She hasn’t been this tipsy, maybe drunk, since college, and while she no longer has to work weekends, she likes to make the most of her days off. Curling up in the darkness of her room with a bad hangover was not her preferred Saturday. 

She thinks about Red just a little when she’s out at the crowded bar. Thinks that she should probably stop thinking about him quite so much.

Aram has a good group of friends. She’s listens to the stories about him and his younger days and there's a few that she finds quite unbelievable. Aram did what!? Aram swears they’re joking, and she swears that he’s not the only one who can track down people and their history on the computer.

“You wouldn’t.” It makes her laugh how aghast he is.

“I might.”

One of Aram’s friends, an elementary school teacher, has been speaking to her most of the night. He is nice enough, really nice in fact, but Lizzie is nowhere near ready to engage with his sudden flirtatious manner. To be fair, they’ve both had their fair share of drinks, so she can’t blame him and his loose tongue. But before Liz loses the ability to care, and to say ‘to hell with Red I don’t even care about him’, she asks for a glass of water. 

“You’re leaving?” He asks. His names Tim too, and it’s too similar to Tom for her to want to even say it out loud. She feels him watching her as she gives Aram a brief hug goodbye. He really does seem a genuinely good person, but no matter how long it's been since she's had a date, she's not ready.

“Yeah,” She smiles, refills her glass with more iced water. “I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow. I’m decorating at the moment.”

“Nice. So, uh, before you go. Do you think you’d maybe like to get dinner sometime?”

“Um, I’m just-” She swallows, can see Aram give her a crooked grin from behind. “I’m not really in that sort of place right now.” She admits. 

Not in that sort of place? Or just not in that sort of place with him? She wonders. Really, she thinks, the truth is that she will never be ready for anyone now. Unless...

“Hey, no worries.” He laughs, and it’s a little awkward, the poor guy. “If you ever change your mind just give Aram a nudge.”

“Okay, I will.” Her smiles brightens, and it actually feels very real. She will. If she ever gets out of this four month long funk, she will ring him. “Have a good night.”

She says goodbye to Samar on her way out. Samar offers to help with her so called ‘decorating’ on Saturday. Lizzie laughs a little; the lie slipped out so easily. Ressler is nowhere to be seen, but he’s been seeing a woman for a couple of weeks now that he probably disappeared hours ago to see her. Its funny, Liz thinks, as she waits for her taxi, the fresh air cooling her heated cheeks, how close they have all become now. There were moments during the last few years where she thought she'd never see any of them ever again. 

 

Her drive home isn’t too bad. The taxi driver doesn’t bother her which is a blessing because her head can’t take it. It’s not until she’s laying on her back in the middle of her bed that Lizzie really misses Red. She’s been going to bed so late because of it. Sleep is so silent. Or, trying to sleep is so silent. It makes her think too much. Her head is spinning now, too, which makes her feel queasy. She wonders when four months will turns into eight months. Will it be any easier?

In college she was sometimes impulsive when she’d had too much to drink. A little over confident, reckless. So tonight, just to be sure, she has left her phone in her handbag hanging on the bedroom door handle. It's terrible how she really doesn’t trust herself with it. Especially when the little piece of white paper was in her bedside draw.

She closes her eyes in the dark room. Thinks that maybe since she’s had a bit of alcohol she’ll fall asleep easily. But then she has this dream that she’s falling and her body jolts, and she really, badly, wants to talk to him that she feels her knees curl into her chest, and she starts to pretend that she's with him. This is bad she thinks, as she pictures him with her. So bad. They're sitting so close together and she's talking a lot. More than she's ever talked before and he's listening to her like whatever she is saying is the most important thing ever. 

Then her phone vibrates. And it's painful when she leaps from her bed. She presses her hand to her forehead, massages her temples. Never again. She will never drink so much again. There’s a dull ache behind her eyes, and that sudden movement has made her unsteady on her feet. She shuffles in the dark toward the door, doesn’t bother with the light and searches inside her bag. 

She's not sure if it's her eyes, wet and drowsy, that trick her, or if she's still in her own imagination, but she freezes when she finds her phone. Her thumb hovers over the green logo. The number Red left blinks on her screen. 

She hadn’t even saved it on her phone; she was too scared she would accidentally call it. 

It could be Dembe, she thinks, but knows that’s not really possible because Dembe has his own number. She lets it ring a few time. Just stares at it. Then she moves to sit back on her bed.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Lizzie.”

There’s a brief pause while she swallows, gathers her voice. The rooms dark and she could almost pretend he's sitting right here with her. She lets her eyes fall shut at her name said in his voice. It’s nice how she can picture him saying it. The tip of his tongue sliding along the back of his top front teeth. Lizzie. She kind of wants him to say it again. She thinks that maybe if she says nothing he will. 

“Lizzie?”

She lifts her clenched fist to her mouth and bites down on it. Not hard enough for pain, but hard enough to get her to say something. 

“Red. Hey, hi. Where are you?”

“Out to dinner at this little Chinese place I've started to visit frequently." His cheerful voice is so expected. "I was just thinking about you… actually.”

“You’re having dinner at one thirty in the morning?”

“It’s never too late, nor too early for dumplings, Lizzie. But, it's just past eleven here. How are you?”

“Right, of course. I forgot you weren't ... here. Good, yeah. Things are going well.”

It’s the truth, she thinks when she says it. Things are going well, but they could be going better.

“That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah, works been pretty hectic, but you know, it’s good. I like it.”

“Did I wake you?” He asks.

“No, no I was, uh-” She presses her fingers to her forehead, squeezes her eyes shut. Liz hates the way she's stuttering. She didn’t expect to feel like this when they talked. And why does he finds it so easy to speak? He sounds so smooth and in control. Red, just sitting there eating Chinese and speaking to her as if they hadn’t been apart for four months. “At Aram’s birthday.”

“Dembe did mention that.”

“Oh.”

Dembe had asked Red to call her. She had almost forgotten.

“Are you alright, Lizzie?"

“Yeah. I'm just tired. You caught me at a bad time.”

But she's not sure whether there would ever be a good time. Or, really, this is actually a perfect time because she's been drinking and talking to him shouldn't be so hard.

“Right." He sounds suddenly unsure. "Yes. You should sleep, Lizzie. It’s late-”

"Bye, Red."

She hangs up quickly and slides the phone under her pillow.

Shit. No. That wasn't suppose to happen.

She presses her face into her pillow, thinks that she should have talked longer. That was the worst goodbye she has ever said. Their first phone call in four months and she didn't even ask how he was. Didn't even let him finish his sentence.

Another couple of minutes go by and she still can't believe she flaked on him. She wasn't expecting to do that. Though, she wasn't expecting him to call her either. What did he really expect? I'll just call Lizzie at one in the morning and expect her to not at all be affected by it? Then her phone vibrates beneath her head. It's not continuous, just a text . Probably Aram making sure she got home alright.

‘Goodnight.’

One word. Did he take those long minutes deciding what to send?

She’s not sure if it’s that one word that does it, or because she's had three tequila shots and too much wine, but she calls him back with nervous fingers. 

“Hi, Lizzie.”

"Did Dembe tell you to call me?"

There's a pause and she knows the answer just from his silence.

"Yes."

"Okay. I thought so."

He clears his throat, makes this odd noise through the phone, and she wonders if he's loosening his tie. 

"But it doesn't mean i haven't been thinking about you."

She smiles then, thinks it's almost embarrassing how easily he can flip her mood. Red has been thinking about her. What has he been thinking? She curls onto her side and closes her eyes, then pulls the blanket over her shoulders. 

"Very much or not very much?" She asks, and her eyes pop open comically. It's the last thing she expected herself to say.

"A lot, Lizzie."

Her eyes close again because he sounds very serious. A lot. Is 'a lot' as much as she's been thinking about him?

"You gave me your number." She says.

"Yes ... For you to call if you ever wanted to talk."

"So, it's not just for emergencies?"

"It's for both. "

"Okay."

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds. She wonders it he's eating or something, and is he eating with others? Is Dembe sitting next to him?

"Who are you with?"

"No one."

"You're eating alone?"

"I'm talking to you."

"What are you eating?"

He chuckles, it's sweet and low and it makes her smile. "Sichuan-style dumplings. They're a nightmare to pick up with chopsticks."

"Especially when you have your phone in your other hand."

"That's very true."

"You could hang up the phone i guess." She says.

"That is an option, yes."

"But that doesn't seem like a very Raymond Reddington thing to do."

"I do like a challenge."

"Yeah." She grins, throws a hand over her face and thanks god that this isn't video calling. "What have you been doing for these last four months?"

"A lot of travelling. Too much. I think i may now have a case of permanent jet lag."

"Have you been sleeping?"

"A little."

"Red." She says, and her voice catches in her throat when she realizes how concerned she sounds. "Can you please, maybe, sleep more?"

"I don't rely on sleep very much. I dislike it."

"I don't think you really hate it."

"No, you're right." He sighs. "But i do find it difficult."

"You need to sleep. You won't be able to function without it, and i don't care how 'accustomed to no sleep' you are."

"I didn't call for you to mother me, Lizzie, but i will try to sleep tonight." He says, and she can tell he's teasing because his tone rises. "Just for you." He adds and she glares in the darkness of her room. Pointless, really, because he can't see it.

"Why did you call me?" She asks. "Is it just because Dembe said you had to? Because i didn't tell him to say anything."

"Dembe only gave me a little encouragement, Lizzie."

"And what does Dembe's encouragement sound like?" 

"He said: I think Elizabeth would like you to call her."

"I never said that."

"I suppose that's why he said 'I think'."

"And then you called?"

"And then i thought about it ... thought about you. Thought about how much i had been thinking about you, and then i called."

"Right. Okay."

"I'm sorry, Lizzie." He pauses, she can hear him breathing and the faint sound of dishes clanging together. "For not calling earlier."

"I didn't call you either, Red."

"You did. About ten minutes ago."

She chuckles, gives him a tired, "Mm."

"You're tired."

"No?"

"You should go to sleep, Lizzie."

"I'm not tired."

"You sound tired."

"I'm not ready to sleep."

Or just not ready to hang up yet, she thinks. He's right though, of course. Her body is weak and eyes heavy, it's a surprise the phone in her hand hasn't slipped yet. If she sits up it might wake her, but she's so comfortable here, laying in bed listening to him. She's imagined this. She's afraid that if she ends the call she won't be able to sleep at all.

"How was Aram's birthday? How is Aram?"

"It was good. He's good."

"And how about Donald?"

"He's good too."

"Shall I go though the whole task force? Or does 'good' sum up everyone?"

"How are you?" She asks. 

"Good."

"That's good."

She can hear him laughing at her, she's not sure why, but she knows she's close to sleep.

"You're falling asleep on me, Lizzie."

"I am."

"Another time, then?"

"You think we'll speak again?"

"If one of us calls."

"Do you want me to call you?" She asks.

"Yes."

"Okay, Red. I might."

"You might?"

"Yeah ... maybe i will."

"Alright, well, Lizzie. You should sleep and i'll look forward to the possibility of you maybe calling."

"You can always call me."

"I will."


	2. Two Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie and Red share a second phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos!! I do not own The Blacklist or the characters.

The second time they have a phone call Lizzie has her phone ringer on loud.

She pressed it up two notches more than she normally has it and tells herself it’s because she’s waiting for her plumber to call back. 

Two days have passed since Red called her. 

She typed out a text on Saturday. It said: Hey, Red. It was good to speak to you… But she deletes it, thinks that Red’s not really into instant messaging. Sunday night is quiet, too quiet. Now that she’s spoken to him once, she wants to speak to him again and again, and it’s probably unhealthy to want something so much. Their first conversation wasn’t particularly brief, but Liz can’t quite recall if she even asked where he was. Where was he staying? What country was he in? Did she ask him anything important?

She stayed in on Sunday night, ordered takeout and watched a documentary on animals in captivity. It was interesting enough, quite horrifying, and kept her awake. Then she fell asleep soon after it had finished and couldn’t find the energy to move herself into her room. She woke slightly disorientated on Monday, wondered why the television was still running and why her phone was still clasped in her hand. No missed calls. She wasn't expecting, wasn't surprised, and feels foolish for wishing there was one. If there was a missed call then she had an excuse to call him. 

Monday goes quickly. She’s out of the office most of the day with Ressler, knocking on doors across the city. They’re trying to piece together the disappearance of a young girl vital to number thirty-six on Red’s list. She’s not worried about the girl yet, because they still haven’t found her mother, and Liz is hoping that when they do, the girl will be safe in the woman’s care. Lizzie is in her office when her phone rings. It’s just past four in the afternoon and she’s looking forward to her early finish. She flinches at the loud tone, thinks that maybe she went a little far with the volume. When she picks it up from her desk she’s moving quickly, packing her gear away and preparing to leave. She doesn’t really expect it to be Red, though his name is the first thing that flashes through her mind. She sees his name on the screen. It didn’t take her long after their phone call to save his number. Her body experiences an odd sort of hot flush and she finds herself worried. Why is he calling? It’s only been two day. She’s hesitant to pick up because there's every possibility something could be wrong.

“…Hello?”

“Lizzie! How are you?”

His tone is joyful, if a little deeper than usual. He's OK. If Red was in danger would he even ring her? It’s a question she wants to ask him and one day she will find the courage to do so. Even though his voice has reassured the brute of her worries, she finds herself asking if he’s alright.

“Red.” It comes out breathless. Her eyes drift down to her fingers rubbing the jeans on her thighs. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Should there be?” He pauses, thinks for a moment. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” She replies, shakes her head and starts to move again. She packs her laptop into her bag, takes her keys from the front pocket. “I’m just surprised that’s all.”

“I did tell you I would call.” he says.

“I just didn’t think it would be so soon.” 

“I didn’t realize we had to have a certain length of time between each phone call.” He says and he’s not angry; he sounds mildly amused. “I’m not use to this long-distance sort of relationship we’ve got going on, Lizzie.”

“What relationship?” She scoffs, pretends to not be thrown by his comment. Her cheeks flame though, and she’s gaping at her office door. She thinks that maybe this long-distance relationship thing is an advantage for her. He can’t see her face, can’t decipher her look and catalouge it away in his memory. Then he can't mull over it and think that perhaps his Lizzie has feelings for him.

“I think you’ve gotten the wrong idea.” She says, trying to keep her tone very matter-of-fact.

She then presses the phone firm against her ear in case she misses his answer, misses a hitch in his breath or something to give away his reaction. He surely wasn’t serious, but if he was, did her answer upset him in the slightest? But when he doesn’t reply and there’s a knock on her office door, she moves toward it in a light panic. She’s allowed to talk to him. Cooper use to ask quite often if she’d spoken to Reddington. But there’s something about the content of their conversation, or perhaps, it’s her feelings toward the calls that has her thinking she shouldn’t be conversing with him.

“Just stay there.” She say quickly, moving the phone from her ear but still talking. “I’ll be one second. Don’t hang up.” 

“Liz.” Aram says, when she opens the door. “Just wanted to tell you we’ve found the mother’s place.” He hands her a piece of paper. There's a picture of the young mother and she looks sweet, maybe a little innocent. Lizzie takes the document in her left hand and is careful not to press any buttons on her phone.

“Great.” She answers, scanning her eyes over the page. “That’s quite out of the way,” she says, referring to the address.

“Agent Ressler and Navabi left a few minutes ago. They will contact Cooper once they know she’s safe.”

Liz nods and she hopes that they find the young girl. She’s only four years old and hopefully oblivious to her father's sticky business.

“I’ll have my phone on me,” she tells Aram. “Make sure to call if you guys need me back in.”

When Aram leaves, Liz is surprised if not a little impressed, when the phone call is still ticking along. Four minutes and thirty-two seconds. She gathers the last of her things and brings the phone back to her ear.

“Are you still there?” 

“Yeah, Lizzie. I am.”'

Her hand pauses on the door handle. There’s something different about him, she thinks and her lips twist in thought. Something different about his voice. She noticed it when she first answered. It’s deeper, not quite slurred but definitely lazy.

“What country are you in?” She questions.

“Sudan.”

“What time is it there?”

“Just after eleven. Why do you ask?”

“Red,” Lizzie smiles, makes her way out her office then locks the door. Her smile doesn't fade as she moves toward the lift. “If I’m not mistaken, you sound tired.”

He hums instead of giving her a proper answer. Hmmm. She takes it as a yes and is rather pleased she can still read him, even through a phone call. Her profiling has improved immensely since meeting him; it was forced to do so. She still finds him bewildering and difficult to crack, but she's getting there. Even after four months apart she wants to continue trying. 

“You should see the stars here, Lizzie. It’s a very impressive sight.”

“I wish I could.” She replies and ducks to see through the large gaps in the car park walls. It’s a grey day out there, warm but overcast. “It’s cloudy here today. I won’t have the chance to see any tonight.”

“I could have you here by tomorrow morning.”

“I’m sure you could.” Lizzie agrees.

“All you need to do is say the word.”

She doesn’t doubt him. But she knows she will never say the word. Now that she's safe and back to work, Liz isn't sure it's a good idea to see Red again. As much as she may want to, she thinks it's best to stay away. Red even told her it's best for him to stay away. She's still not sure why they're having phone calls if he thinks that. 

Why did he call? He could have easily ignored Dembe's encouragement. 

And why did he call again two days later?

“All I need to do is apply for leave, tell Cooper I’m off to see the stars in Sudan and I’ll be visiting his favorite person: Raymond Reddington.” She replies.

“Bring him along. He can bring Charlene and the girls.”

She laughs as she unlocks her car. She finds it so easy to joke with him now, tease with him, imagine with him. Though, then again, he’s probably still being serious. He's contradicting himself now because he was the one who said she needed a new, fresh start, away from him. A clean slate.

Lizzie starts to wonder if Red is missing her.

“I’ll consider asking him, Red.”

She’s sitting in her car now and she could put his call through Bluetooth and hear him over the speakers, but she needs to concentrate. She wants to have this conversation with him instead of changing lanes and trotting through traffic on a Monday afternoon. She rests her head against the back of the car seat and hears him sigh. It’s a quiet and comfortable sigh. She's feeling much the same.

“Are you at a hotel?” She asks.

“Yes. Just for the night. Tomorrow I’ll be on the move again.”

“Are you in bed?”

She thinks nothing of her question; it's completely innocent, but Red clears his throat.

"Yes.”

She can picture him bed, though she’s never seen him there. He’s still dressed but without his shoes. His backs up against the headboard and his ankles are crossed. There's one pillow behind his back. She has a vivid imagination, she thinks, because she can see an open newspaper next to him on the bed, and an almost empty tumbler of scotch sitting on the bedside table. 

“You should go to sleep, Red.”

“It’s funny,” he says, and it's in a rather pensively sad manner. “I knew you were going to say that. That’s actually one of the very reasons why I called you.”

“So you had someone to send you to sleep?”

“Your voice, Lizzie, has become quite-”

“Red,” She interrupts when a loud beep cuts through his sentence. “I have another call.”

It’s Aram. He's calling to tell her the young girl was not with her mother. Liz is not even out of the building and she’s ordered back to work. She hadn't even started her car. The matter is edging on serious now and Cooper needs them all there.

“I’m on my way,” She tells Aram then hangs up and exits her car. 

Red's call has stopped at eight minutes and sixteen seconds. He has ended it, she thinks, then snorts at the morbid way she thinks it. She sighs, pockets her phone and heads back toward the lift. She won’t be home till much later now and she won’t be getting any sleep tonight. 

Hopefully, Red will.


	3. Overstepped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie and Red share their third phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for comments and kudos. Thank you, thank you!  
> I do not own The Blacklist or the characters. *I changed the rating for this chapter alone but it's pretty mild*

The third time they speak on the phone Lizzie is the one who makes the call.

Then, shortly after the call has ended, Lizzie tosses the phone on the floor and vows to not call him again for a long, long time.

She arrives home on Friday evening worn out. Her stomach is empty and began growling for food not long into her trip home. She heats and eats a frozen meal, promises herself that she will go food shopping tomorrow for some substantial, fresh food. She needs to start cooking again; she can't remember the last time she steamed broccoli or made even the simplest of stir-frys. She washes her dishes-she's been saving them all week-then begins to peel off her layers of clothing as she makes her way to the bathroom. A trail of clothes are left on the floor; she reminds herself to not do one, but two loads of washing in the morning. 

Lizzie spends longer than she had planned in the shower. It had been a long, grueling five days at work and she needs the stream of hot water to soothe the tension behind her eyes. They were lucky enough to find the young girl, who was staying at a friends of the mothers, before the working week was over. The girl’s mother, after hours of questioning from Liz and Ressler, finally trusted them enough to spill her daughter’s location.

“I was worried for her safety. You, you don’t know what he’s like.” 

“We will need to put you both into protective custody.”

“It won’t work. He’ll find us. Especially now that I’ve talked to you.”

“It will work,” Lizzie promised. “We will protect you and your daughter.”

Lizzie isn’t sure where she finds the energy, but she shaves her legs during her shower, and leaves both her shampoo and conditioner in the recommended length of time. She's been using a purple shampoo recently. It's meant to hide the yellow tones in her blonde hair. By the time she’s finished, her fingertips are wrinkled and creamy, and there’s a heat rash on her chest and the tops of her thighs. She dresses in her summer sleep-wear then settles herself on the edge of the bath tub to lotion her legs. Her skin is pale; it lost its olive tan months ago. 

It’s almost ten when Lizzie calls him. It’s forecast to be a sticky, hot night, so she leaves her bedroom window open an inch and removes one of the blankets from her bed. As she climbs into bed, she contemplates sending Red a message first to see if he’s free, but he never did such a thing when he called her, so she dials his number and hopes she hasn’t caught him at a bad time.

“Lizzie.”

“Hey,” she greets, feels her lips pull up into a soft smile. “Are you free to talk?”

“Always,” Red replies. “Well, no, that’s not entirely true. I do have somewhere to be at ten-thirty… that can wait.”

“I won’t keep you long.” She tells him, suddenly curious about his plans and where he is. “Where are you anyway?”

“Beijing. Ah, one of the most populous cities in the world as you well know. It’s in constant motion here, Lizzie, and I find myself struggling to keep up with it all.”

She used to wonder whether Red would ever settle down and, if he did, how long it would last. How long before he started to get itchy feet. Red’s always on foot. Sudan one day, Beijing the next. He did well to last so long in DC. He did take trips out of the country, but very few to what he was use to. And he still had a place–somewhere to call home–to come back to. She was there to welcome him back quite often too.

After travelling with him for a significant length on time, she has concluded that Red will settle one day and, when he does, he will be at peace. Red will experience no such thing as itchy feet.

“Wow, you really do get around.”

“It’s a busy time of the year.”

“Why?”

“No particular reason.” Red replies, and she’s not sure whether he doesn’t want to elaborate or if there’s nothing to elaborate on. “How are you anyway, Lizzie? How is that case of yours coming along?”

His quick change of subject makes her skeptical mind stir.

“Not bad,” Lizzie answers, and sounds a bit monotone in her reply. Discussing cases that Red has given them seems like a poor choice of conversation. Liz has lived work for the past week. She firmly believes in weekends being for everything else. Anything, really, that does not involve work.

“Where do you have to be at ten-thirty? It is morning there?” She presumes.

“Yes. I’m meeting an old friend at a busy, little Hot Pot restaurant. I’m very much looking forward to the sliced ribeye, Lizzie.” He replies, his voice oozing enthusiasm. “But I’ve never been much of a tofu fan. However, Jonathan tells me this place does the best fried tofu in the country and I’d be a fool not to try it.”

“You know, Red,” Lizzie huffs. She's so pleased that she called him now. There was a moment earlier when she thought she might fall asleep on him again. But there’s something about his voice, something that makes him feel so close to her when he speaks, that keeps her well awake. “Sometimes I think you might just do all this travelling for food and the food alone.”

“My mother used to say I should ‘eat to live’ not ‘live to eat’.” Red replies, and his voice floats off into a warm sort of memory. One that she wishes she could delve into. “Wise words for a growing ten-year-old boy.”

“You never talk about your mother.”

“No, I suppose I don’t."

“Why?”

“You’ve never asked."

The quiet, hopeful moment is lost by a roll of her eyes. Liz turns on her back, pulls the covers high over her chest and stares up at the ceiling. She remembers the time-living out of her suitcase in scrappy motel rooms-when she applied sticky tack to various notes and findings on Red. She stuck them on the ceiling above her bed. Liz studied them every night, every morning and often in the company of Hudson. There were other individuals on her ceiling also, but Red was really the core of it all. He was and, still is, an enigma to her.

“I wonder why that is.”

“I can make a few guesses as to why, Lizzie, but we won’t go there.”

Lizzie sighs, rolls back over to lay on her side. She slips the phone between her ear and the pillow. She could argue with him, tell him it continues to annoy her when he keeps so tight-lipped. But once again, there’s something about these phone calls. Even though they are short and uncomplicated; they are effortless. She doesn't want to waste time arguing with him, would rather subtly encourage him to open up instead. She wonders if Red might find speaking to her over the phone easier. Sometimes she thinks that she could say anything to him over the phone. 

“I think I might start asking questions again. Will you be more open to answer?”

“Depends on the questions.”

“You’re going to get a lot of phone calls from me,” she responds. “I’ll be a pesky phone-survey caller.”

“Lizzie, your goading is music to my ears.”

He doesn’t even try to suppress his laugh; it comes out loud and gruff.

“You seem more yourself." He continues, and he sounds so pleased when he says it.

“I guess I do feel more at ease now I don’t have numerous agencies after me.”

“It does begin to wear thin after some time.”

“Has it for you?”

“About as thin as a pair of sheer pantyhose, Lizzie, however odd a comparison. The place I am staying at is owned by a woman who has a fixation on the things.”

“On pantyhose? How do you know that?”

“I opened not one, but three draws in her room, and they were all full of the things! All folded and color coded too.”

“That is strange.” Liz replies. “Why are you looking through her draws anyway?”

“Absolutely harmless, I tell you. I was looking for the key to open her wine cellar. She left a small, pink note saying it was in one of the draws.”

“Interesting.” Lizzie replies, wonders how old this woman is and how well Red really knows her. “How long will you be in Beijing for?”

“Four or five days. I’m in no rush to leave, but wouldn’t mind settling somewhere quieter for a week of two.”

“Is Dembe with you?”

“He’s arriving tomorrow.”

“It must be hard travelling alone … despite how many people you meet and stay with.”

“It can be just as hard when travelling with someone I suppose,” Red responds. 

“Depends who that someone is.” 

“Yeah.”

Lizzie remains silent on the line, and hopes that the finality in his tone is just her imagination. But, he doesn't expand on his short response and after a few, prolonged seconds, Lizzie thinks he probably needs to get ready for his meeting. 

“I should let you go.”

"... I hope you have a restful weekend, Lizzie.”

“Thank you.”

“Sleep well.”

“Have a good day.”

Lizzie ends the call and places the phone next to her on the bed. What did he mean by it? Did he find it hard when they traveled together? Sure, there were moments when it was strained and difficult for both of them, but they managed. She likes to think that they work quite well together. Whatever Red meant, she doesn't focus on it for too long. Speaking to him lifted her mood in a matter of seconds and she won't let that comment deflate her. And perhaps, she's being presumptuous. 

Lizzie claps her hands together and the small lamp on her bedside table switches off. She lays there in complete darkness; the thick drapes dressing her windows will block the morning light so she can have a decent sleep in. Her legs feel smooth against the sheets and she's glad she spent the time shaving them. Maybe, if the weathers good tomorrow, she'll wear shorts and attempt to do a bit of sun bathing.

It's then, once the phone call is over, that Lizzie pretends Red is with her. Their phone call wasn't quite long enough and she wants him for just a little longer. She imagines him here, now, laying next to her. She sleeps on the left side of the bed, but she'd swap to the right if he was accustomed to the left also. The right of the bed is empty though, other than her phone laying there.

She brushes her hand over the hem of her shirt, pulls it up a little then strokes her bare stomach. She's warm under the covers, so she slips her shorts and underwear off, telling herself it's because it's hot. But then, when her hand runs back over her stomach, down to her hip bone then rests on the inside of her thigh, she knows she's in trouble. This is a first, she thinks, when thinking about Red that is. It's a bad idea, terrible probably, but Lizzie finds she can't really stop herself. 

It only takes a couple of minutes before she says his name in quick succession, then whispers it a few times after. Then, almost as quickly as her pleasure came, she kicks around at the bottom of her bed looking for her underwear and the sleep shorts she slipped off.

"Shit."

She pulls them on quickly, cursing herself for even thinking of him in that way.

Lizzie feels uneasy now; she felt so good minutes before.

She pats the covers blindly to find her phone and when she does, she tosses it on the floor.

She is not going to call him again. Not for a long, long while.


	4. Need You Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie and Red share their fourth phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for comments + kudos again :) I do not own The Blacklist or the characters.

Lizzie calls Red five days later.

She paces the length of her living room when she talks to him. Then she slides her back down her bedroom door, feels her long-sleeved shirt rising up her back, and sits on the floor with her knees close to her chest. He tells her to breathe and she tells him she can’t.

When Lizzie leaves work on Wednesday afternoon she tells everyone that she is fine. Aram gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze when he places a coffee in front of her and Samar nods her head when she passes. Cooper calls her into his dimly-lit office when she returns from the hospital, tells her that these horrific, unfortunate outcomes happen on occasion, but to remember all the good she’s done. Lizzie wants to tell him she can’t remember any of the good she’s done. She can’t remember any of it at all. But she is numb when she listens to him; her face is stripped of any emotion that could have him think twice about her well-being. Liz nods her head at all the right times to quell any of his concerns. Then Cooper sends her on her way and, when Lizzie leaves, she catches the picture tacked to the whiteboard they had being working on last week. It’s a black-and-white photo of the mother.

Lizzie stops in front of the board, closes her eyes and sees the woman being consoled by an older, fair-haired woman. It was just hours ago. The mother in hysterics outside the hospital room; doctors and nurses moved quickly but silently down the hall. Room number 24. The door was shut and lights were off inside except for a small lamp in the corner of the room. Liz knows she will never forget the room number. She will never forget the name Molly Alexander. She can’t bring herself to go over to the woman. She wants to apologize, tell her she tried so very hard to keep her daughter safe. But then Lizzie blinks and it’s too late. She’s no longer at the hospital; she is at work. 

Ressler rides up in the lift with her. The silence is heavy until the doors open and Ressler asks if she’s alright. Lizzie nods and asks him the same question.

“We put them all away, Keen. You got to remember that.”

“I know.”

Ressler leaves her in the lift and she stands there for a while longer. He was probably in a rush to get home and shower. She should do that too, she thinks, but she stares at the pale face in front of her. She’s so young, she thinks. Four-years old. Molly. The girl’s blue eyes look so large on her small face and they stare at Liz with such trust.

“Is my daddy in there?”

“Sssh,” Lizzie whispers, placing her finger on the girl’s lips. “We need to stay quiet, okay?”

The lift doors shut and it’s not until it starts going down to the basement again that Lizzie jabs the ground floor button. 

This time she exits.

At home she can’t get herself to do anything productive. She stands in her kitchen for a while thinking about Ressler in her ear piece, telling her to move out. She should have been more on to it, faster. Maybe if Molly had stayed in the laundry room she would have been safe. No, she shakes her head. She should eat. She should get some food in her. She opens the fridge door. There’s actually a lot of food in there for once. A packet of steak, mince, a carton of eggs and the vegetable bin is full. She forces herself to take out the steak and a cob of corn. 

She cooks hastily, doesn’t take much care. The steak turns out tough and over-cooked. She tosses it in the bin and leaves the corn in the pot full of water. She settles on the sofa instead. There's a bottle of red wine on the coffee table. She had all the intentions to have a glass last night, but she ended up falling asleep before the news had even finished. She's not going to touch it tonight. Liz knows her reaction needs to be dealt with by morning. She can’t go to work with little sleep, and her body filled with alcohol. She can’t let herself get obsessed with the ‘if only I had done this’ state of mind. Cooper will send her for counselling if he sees any sign of her not coping. She doesn’t want to talk to anyone. She will be fine after a day or two.

She could call Red, she thinks. She could talk to him and tell him what happened.

She leaves the sofa to retrieve her phone only to find it with no battery. She wonders if it’s a sign. A sign to not call Red. She gives it half an hour to charge and while she waits she lays on the sofa and stares out the window. It’s not quite dark yet and there’s a tree blocking her view of the city, but there’s a bird nest tucked in one of the bushy branches. She peeks at it every morning to see if the speckled eggs have hatched. She’s spotted the mother a couple of times.

Her phone chimes. It’s just a message from her phone company, telling her it’s almost time to top up the credit on her phone. Since the phones already in her hand, and she has calling-time she needs to use up, she decides to call Red.

He takes a long time to answer but she stays on anyway. She won't leave a message.

“Nicole!” His voice is loud and unexpected in her ear, and she is close to ending the call. He’s with people and she doesn’t want to disturb. She can hear excited voices mingling in the background. “Now is not a good time, sweetheart, do you think I can get back to you in say… fifteen minutes?”

“Red.”

She doesn’t mean for his name to come out the way it does. She wanted to hang up, she thinks, she should have ended the call, but her voice betrays her. It breaks and she sobs his name out instead. Red is silent, but people are still bickering in the background. She’s not sure where he is, but it sounds like a group of drunk men fighting over a game of cards, possibly something with high-stakes. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” She hears him say, and Liz blinks her eyes and tilts her head to stare up at the ceiling. “I need to take this. Dembe, take my place at the table and keep your eye on Romeo here. He has a nasty set of wandering eyes.”

Laughter follows Red’s remark and then the voices fade until there’s nothing. A door closes, and then another door closes, and then there's the distinct bolt of a heavy lock snapping into place.

“Lizzie, what’s wrong?”

“Um,” her swallow catches in the back of her throat and she quickly uprights herself. “... I just thought we could talk.”

“You’re upset.” 

“Yeah…”

"What's wrong?"

She stands from the sofa and begins to pace in the small space her living room provides. Between the bag of red-stained clothes at her front door and the two-draw desk that has a photo of her and Sam sitting on top. She shouldn’t have called Red so early; she should have waited for a bit. She should have cleaned the bag of clothes. She should have taken Molly out the window.

"Lizzie?"

Now she’s just going to dump it all on Red. And despite Red’s familiarity with death, she still doesn’t like telling him.

“Lizzie?”

“Something happened at work today and I just-”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” Liz squeezes her eyes shut, wants to tell him that she was close to being hurt, probably should have been, would rather have been, but she knows he won’t be pleased to hear her say that. 

“What happened?”

“There was a girl… ”

“Yeah?”

“She was um… four-years old, Red. And she, I didn’t protect her properly, Red. And she got in the line of gun fire and there was a lot of it and… she just got hit. She died, Red. In my arms.” She says in a rush. She thinks that the quicker she gets it out, the faster Red will help her. “She just, it was so, so quick. They, they took her to hospital but it was too late. I was meant to–I told her that she would be okay. I told her mother that I would protect her.” 

She sniffs, feels the first few tears track down to her lips. She wondered when it was going to begin. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and wonders why she hasn't showered yet. Her hands smell of hospital soap and the faint, metallic scent of blood.

“Oh, Lizzie.”

“And I don’t know what to do.” She says and inhales a ragged breath. Lizzie knows that Red is use to this side of her, and she’s use to giving it to him so she doesn't bother trying to hold back tears. “She was four years old and I should have been able to protect her.”

“Lizzie, you did protect her, but there are some impossible situations where you-”

“You weren’t there. I, I told her that I would come back for her-”

“Lizzie.”

“And I was trying-”

“Lizzie, I need you to stop.”

“But I can’t.” Lizzie chokes out, her voice boarding on hysteria. She shouldn’t feel like this, she thinks. “I can see her.” She says and she feels so cold now and then there’s this overwhelming pain that settles in her chest. "Like I can see her, Red. Every time I close my eyes. I, I think something's wrong with me.”

“You need to breathe, Lizzie. You need to calm down.” Red responds, his voice warm and controlled. “Don’t say anything, Lizzie. Just take some breaths, sweetheart, or you’re going to have a panic attack on me, and I’m not there with you.”

“I can’t.” She cries, thinks that now she's started she won't be able to stop. She presses her back against her bedroom door and slides down, wraps an arm around her legs, brings her knees close to her chest and drops her head to rest on them. 

“You can.” He responds and when all she gives him is sobs in reply, he tries again. "Lizzie?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you breathing with me?"

“I want you here.” Her tone comes out much more pleading than she expected. She hasn't cried like this in a long, long time. “I need you to be here.”

There’s a burst of breath from Red’s end and Liz doesn’t really register what she just said. Or, she does, but she doesn’t really care that she said it. Because it’s true, she thinks. He’s not here when she needs him. She thinks that if she could be hugged by Red all night she might wake up okay. 

“I know. I know. I’m sorry, Lizzie.” He replies and he sounds unsure of how else to respond. “Are you at home?”

“Yes.”

“Have you eaten?”

Lizzie sniffs, wipes her face across her knees. “I tried to.”

“Have you had a shower, sweetheart?”

“No.”

“Lizzie, I want you to go and have a shower-”

“You have to go?”

“No, I don’t. But a hot shower, the steam and the pressure of the water will do you a great deal, Lizzie.”

“Okay.”

“We can keep talking if you like.” He says and she nods until she realizes he's not here with her; he can't see her. “I would like to keep talking,” He adds.

“I feel bad,” Lizzie whispers, bites down on each knuckles on her left hand. “I feel like I should have done something differently.”

“Those sorts of thoughts are natural, Lizzie. People tend to believe they were in the wrong, that they should have done it this way instead of that way. But, Lizzie, you did nothing wrong. You did not shoot her.”

“I was near her but not close enough. If I had-”

“You’re upset, Lizzie, because you’re a good person and you wanted, you tried everything to keep her safe. It’s not your fault when other people don’t allow that.”

“You think so?”

“Lizzie, I know you more than you’d probably like. And as much as I detest your often fearless actions, I know you would have done everything in your power to protect her. But some things are out of our control and it's never an easy thing to understand. Especially for someone as...kind-hearted as you, Lizzie.”

"… Red… Thank you.”

“Please don’t let what I said fall on deaf ears, Lizzie.”

“It won’t… Thank you. I think I’m going to have that shower now…”

“Can you call me afterwards?”

“Okay.”

“If you don’t call, Lizzie. I will call you.”

Lizzie doesn’t call him after her shower and she’s not sure why. She is in bed, and she does want to talk to him, she thinks, but she can’t bring herself to make the call. And she can’t bring herself to pick up his calls either. She sends him a message instead, tells him she’s okay but she’s tired and she’s just going to sleep. His reply is hesitant, concerned, and he tells her he's worried, but he doesn’t pressure her.

Lizzie doesn’t sleep at all. She sees Molly in the safe house, that wide grin and a scattering of freckles across her nose. She told Lizzie that she couldn’t wait to start school and wear a school bag. She couldn't wait to visit the school library. Lizzie asked her what her favorite book was and Molly said The Secret Island because it's her mom's favorite. 

And then Liz starts to think of Eugene Ames and his daughter. 

By the time the sun begins to rise, Lizzie knows she hasn't dealt with it professionally. This is her job, she thinks. She needs to remember what Cooper said. But her head is pounding and her chest aches. She drags herself out of bed and showers, washes her face twice and wears extra concealer under the eyes when she does her make-up. By the time she's eaten a piece of toast then thrown it up because her stomach hurts from last night's phone call, she is late for work.

Lizzie forgets about her phone and leaves it on her bedside table.


	5. No Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie and Red share their fifth phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own The Blacklist, or the characters. Thanks for kudos and comments!

Red calls Lizzie four times on Thursday.

Then he calls her three times on Friday, once on Saturday, and not at all on Sunday.

Lizzie doesn’t pick up any of his calls.

But on Monday, just as Lizzie is leaving work, she calls him. 

She asks Red what’s he doing and hopes it’s enough of a hint for him to realize that she wants to see him–properly–before he leaves. 

Monday is a slow day at work; she has a bunch of paper work that needs to be sorted through, and Cooper is in and out of meetings all day. By mid-morning Liz is up to her third cup of coffee, and she thinks she should probably stop gulping the stuff down because her hands begin to tremble. She is thankful that she’s able to hide away in her office for the majority of the day, only leaving the comfortable space when her coffee mug is empty. Next time she craves a hot drink she’ll have an herbal tea. Perhaps one of those cranberry and apple ones she saw Aram bring in last week.

Cooper then finds a moment between meetings to speak with her.

She is summoned to his office–Ressler raises his eyebrows as she passes–and Cooper attempts to encourage her to go and make an appointment with the FBI counselor sometime today. 

“I’m fine, Sir.” 

She wasn’t planning on staying long in his office, but as she sat down in the chair opposite him a strong sense of deja vu sweeps over her.

My door is always open, he had said.

She still hasn’t taken him up on the offer and wonders if she ever will.

“Elizabeth,” he says quietly even though his door is shut and no one is listening in. “I’m not saying you have to visit her daily. Just once or twice for the next week or two.”

She wants to ask him if it's an order, but worries that if she does then he will remember that he can in fact make these orders. Liz doesn’t understand it though–what is a couple of talks really going to do? She won’t say anything during them. She knows she’s in the line of work where she can’t become unfocused; there’s no time to dwell on things or mope around every time a case goes haywire, but surely she can handle her problems herself? And she is. Today she woke up before her alarm clock. She wonders if she should tell him, maybe it will help ease his concerns. 

“Look,” she says calmly. ”I know I was a bit off last week, but I can assure you I’ve worked through it myself and I’m feeling … fine. I appreciate the concern, I do, and thank you.” She smiles at him, and she’s a little in awe at his continued concern for her because Cooper has gone through hell for her in the last couple of years. She hopes he understands how much she appreciates it.

“But it’s really not necessary, Sir,” she says.

Cooper doesn’t take her soft refusal too well, and his sigh is loud, but Lizzie senses–or hopes– the bit of amusement laced in his tone isn’t just her imagination. He pinches the bridge of his nose, presses his fingers there and reluctantly nods in her direction. 

“Alright, Agent Keen.

“Thank you, Sir.”

She feels incredibly relieved. It was almost too easy. The thought of talking to someone just wasn’t particularly appealing to Lizzie at the moment (if ever). She just knows, knows, that whatever they discuss, whatever small truths they can pick from her, would sooner or later lead to the topic of Reddington. 

‘Raymond Reddington was a big part of your life, Agent Keen. Would you like to tell me how it’s been going for you since he left?’

‘Do you think his departure has affected you in any way?‘

She wonders–only wonders because she’d never say it out loud–If she were to actually tell someone how she really feels about Red’s departure, about him as an actual man (not just him as a big, bad criminal)–what would they do? Those talks are strictly confidential, but surely if she spoke of her growing feelings for Red they’d have to alert the bureau?

Every road does leads to Reddington. It really does because the next thing Cooper says is something that Liz feels like she should expect. He takes his time, observes her for a few long seconds before he decides to tell her. And when he does, her feet feel like small weights holding her down in the once comforting chair in Cooper’s office. Now the plastic is hard against her back and the armrests are stone cold under her palms. There’s this sudden urge to escape, sprint out of his office and pretend she didn’t hear. 

“Reddington has called me.” Cooper says.

“He called you?”

“He’s been trying to get in contact with you.”

If Cooper does a look that screams ‘scandal’ then the way he leans back in his chair and links his fingers on his lap is the exact look. It’s almost as if he’s enjoying it, but she’s not sure why he would be. He raises his eyebrows in her direction; the lines on his forehead are as prominent as ever. And Cooper just sits there and waits for her to answer.

Liz blushes a deep, warm pink because she’s been caught out. Not long ago she had told Cooper she hadn’t heard from Reddington, and she probably never will.

“Oh?” She licks her dried lips. “Yeah. He’s just… been calling at bad times.”

No, no he really hasn’t been, she thinks regretfully. Perhaps two of the calls on Thursday were missed by accident because she had left her phone at home, but the other seven were unjustified. She was at home each of the seven times he had rung, and she hadn’t picked up once. Not one of his phone calls were answered. And Red doesn’t call for a few seconds either; he holds on and on as if he knows she’s listening to it ring. But Liz thought that if she pretended not to hear it, threw a pillow over her phone, or left the phone on the kitchen bench with the television on loud then it would be an acceptable excuse not to answer.  
She’s tried many times to string together a reason as to why she failed to answer any of them, but the few ideas she does think of scare her, and she decides that it’s best not to think of them at all.

She’s become too attached.

She has the feeling that she may have some strong feelings.

And she’s relying on him far too much, and what’s the point when he’s in a million different places all the time and a million miles away.

“I didn’t know you had been keeping in contact with him,” Cooper says, cutting through her thoughts.

“Uh, just a few calls.” Liz replies. It’s no big deal, she thinks and gives a flick of her wrist as if to brush the comment off. She smiles at Cooper. It’s not like he knows what their calls are about, or what she thinks before, during and after them. 

What she did after that one call. 

But it was only the one time and it meant nothing to her. People fantasize about the strangest things often, and it’s not Lizzie’s fault that Red happened to be on her mind when her hormones were erratic.

“About our cases mainly. When Dembe’s unavailable,” she tells him.

Liz believe she’s playing this quite well, quite cool. Cooper doesn’t suspect a thing.

“I see.” 

Or, perhaps, not.

She knows what Cooper really means. The way he drawls his response. His ‘I see’ means that he can see for sure, see that she’s lying. It’s nice though, and appreciated, when he doesn’t call her out on it. 

“Perhaps you should give him a call,” he suggests. “To let him know that you’re doing OK.”

 

It is later on when Lizzie thinks about Cooper’s suggestion. She’s in her office signing off more paper work, and she thinks she should call Red to let him know she’s okay. It’s the right thing to do. And she will. When she finishes work she will ring him and apologies for making him worry–it wasn’t her intention. Then she will continue to call him but not quite so often and not so late at night and not when she’s in the company of alcohol.

And that’s when she hears him.

As soon as she’s made the decision to ring him after work, she hears him.

She hears Ressler’s voice first. 

“How did you get in here?”

“You’re still asking that question, Donald?” 

That loud, obnoxious voice. 

It sound exactly the same over the phone. Unless she’s upset, or he’s tired or they are both a little surprised that they are speaking to each other–then he sounds rather different.

And a moment goes by, when Lizzie just continues filling in the blank spaces on the stack of documents with her signature. She hears him, knows his distinct voice from anywhere, but she just doesn’t quite... believe it. Or doesn’t want to believe it. 

“I’m here to see Agent Keen.”

Lizzie drops the pen she’s holding. She doesn’t want to see him! She could lock her door. She stands from her chair–almost pushing it over in the process–and she's ready to lock the door, but Ressler might think she’s gone to lunch, and she can’t do that because Red will wait around; Red will always wait around.

So Lizzie sits back down in her chair and tells herself the best, most safest way to handle this situation is to just act normal. 

And Lizzie can do normal with Red rather well.

But he’s here to see her and there’s this hot flush beating in her cheeks now, and her hearts in a race; she can hear it thump in her ears. 

It’s only Red. 

It was Red wasn’t it?

After nearly five months and four phone calls and nine missed phone calls.

Her desk is a mess, she thinks, but her hair is even messier, so she runs her fingers through it then gathers it up in one hand and tries to smooth it into some sort of ponytail. But then the hair tie snaps–like the last five of them have–and so she tucks her hair behind her ears and hopes it looks okay. 

She hopes that she looks okay.

What is he even doing here? At work too? She runs the pad of her index finger under each eye. It comes off clean so at least her mascara hasn’t smudged. 

“Oh god,” she mumbles, tightens her hands on each arm of her chair. It’s only Red. It’s really, honestly, not a big deal. There must be something considerably wrong with her; she has a swirl of nerves in her belly and she would do anything, anything not to see him just yet.

There’s a knock on her door, just three light taps, and it take everything, just everything in her to say ‘come in.’ 

Lizzie grabs her pen again and looks down at the paper in front of her. She signs her name there and there, flips the page over…signs it there and there and…she thinks she might be sick.

“Lizzie.”

She looks up. Thinks that yes, it’s definitely him and yes, she shouldn’t have had so much caffeine.

“Reddington.”

“You’ve kept with the blonde.”

She swallows. It feels so strange looking at him here in her office. And he’s looking at her too, in a way that makes the hair tucked behind her ears feel uncomfortable. He looks well though, pink in the cheeks, and he looks just like she saw him last time. Perhaps a little tired under the eyes, but she guesses it’s from all the travelling.

“…Yes.” She says.

And then Red smiles at her; there’s no teeth showing but it’s friendly and warm, and she feels woozy from it. She watches him remove his hat in slow, fluid movements and then shut her office door. Dembe is standing guard outside; she can just make out his tall figure between the thin gaps in the blinds. She should say hi to Dembe because she hasn’t seen him in almost a month now. She should say hi to Red also.

“What are you doing here?” She asks once the doors shut and the room feels too small. Red’s large presence hogging all the space. Her hands mess with her hair, pulling it back from behind her ears so hopefully the hair covers–and distracts from– her heated cheeks.

“You weren’t answering my calls.”

“I was- I was going to, I just…” She blinks. “… Wait, you came all this way because I wasn’t answering your calls?”

“I called you eight times.”

She thinks that it was actually nine calls but decides not to point it out.

Lizzie just stares at him, thinks that she doesn’t want to talk to him her in her office at work. And she’s not ashamed to admit to herself that it’s because she’s embarrassed for not answering his stupid, nice phone calls. This wouldn’t be happening if she had. And she loves talking to him on the phone, so it’s hard to see the problem in answering them. 

Ressler’s probably staring daggers at her door now, she thinks, and does Cooper even know Red’s here? 

“How are you, Lizzie?” Red tries again when she remains silent. He moves to sit down in the chair opposite her desk, but she stops him.

“Um, I’m quite busy… ”

Red pauses. His hand rests on the back of the chair he is about to sit in. Then his mouth opens then closes like one of those clowns at the fair, and Liz worries that she’s being rude. She does have a lot to get through though, she tells herself. 

“Is this a bad time?” He asks.

“Yeah,” she says, glancing down at the work on her desk. “Cooper needs this all done by the end of the day and I just, there’s a lot to get through… I mean, it’s good to see you, of course. Just…”

“I will leave you to it then.” Red says for her. He doesn’t sound angry, surprised perhaps, but not angry. Then he places his hat back on his head, and he’s opening the door before Liz has the chance to tell him no. To tell him she’s sorry, and she does want to talk to him. His arrival is just unexpected and she really wasn’t prepared for it. Lizzie likes to be prepared for Red. But she takes too long, and she doesn’t catch what he says on his way out, thinks that it’s a goodbye, but she’s too focused on trying to force herself to say something that she misses it.

And then he’s gone and her office feels large and empty.

Just like that.

“Shit.” 

 

When Lizzie leaves work she manages to get to the safety of the lift before Cooper’s last meeting ends. He would have wanted to talk to her about Red’s appearance, and she wouldn’t have known what to say. Especially after their conversation earlier. Ressler had knocked on her door soon after Red had left asking what was going on. Liz said she didn’t know. Ressler, surprisingly, didn’t seem to fussed about it all, didn’t even bother asking how long Red was staying. And then on his way out, he tells Liz that Aram had let Red into the post office because he bumped into him outside. 

Lizzie smiled at that and thanked Aram on her way out for letting Red in. Aram tells her he didn’t really have a choice and Mr. Reddington is a frightening man.

Lizzie dials Red’s number as she exits the lift. 

It rings twice.

“Lizzie.”

“Red…” Oh, she feels so good for calling him now; it feels so nice, she thinks. His voice feels nice. “Hey.”

“Hello. Did you manage to get all your work done?”

“Yeah I did. Are you still here?”

“…Yes.”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing of much importance. How about you, Lizzie? What are you doing? How is everything?”

“I’m just on my way home…” 

He’s not going to ask her to see him, she thinks. He shouldn’t be the one to ask anyway. It should be her asking him.

“Would you be free tonight, Lizzie?”

Oh, she thinks and pauses in the car park just before getting to her car. Has Red ever actually been upset with her? Or, perhaps, remained upset for a significant amount of time? She can’t think of any examples, but if this was one, then he sucks at holding a grudge with her.

“Yeah.”

“I was thinking–if you’re feeling up to it that is–we could–”

“Would you like to come over?” She interrupts, rather proudly. Lizzie thinks that it’s much easier being upfront over the phone. 

“What time?”

“Just… when you’re ready?”

Then Red hangs up which is kind of odd, but she takes it as a yes, he will come around.

 

When Lizzie arrives home, just twenty minutes later because the traffic was surprisingly calm for the time of day, Red is standing on her doorstep. He’s leaning back against the railing, wearing a jacket, white shirt, slacks and looking rather nice. She peers at him as she gets closer; he’s holding two, large pizza boxes. 

“Pizza?”

“And wine.” He stands up straighter and looks so pleased with himself. He’s wearing his dark blue jacket which he will need to take it off because it’s so humid this evening.

He’s all smiles too, and he steps aside to show off the two bottles of wine sitting on her outdoor table. The little, rusty table she has yet to use.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat pizza,” she says, smiling up at him, wondering if she should apologize now for earlier or leave it for later. 

“Oh! I’ve been living off rice and noodles and soybeans and so and so recently… I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. It does smell good.” She responds, opens her front door then takes the two wine bottles and leads him inside. It feels strange with him here in her house. She’s imagined it so often–not quite in this way…and especially not with pizza–and now it’s actually happening she doesn’t know what to think.

“Ahh, Switzerland.” 

Liz turns, watches him glance around the living room.

“What?”

“The color scheme...all the pale blue... and the wooden floors it reminds me of that little place we stayed at in Switzerland.” He responds. “You said you adored it.”

“I did,” Lizzie agrees, resting the wine on the kitchen bench and reaching for the plates and wine glasses in the top cupboard. “I guess it sort of… reminded me of that place when I first saw this.”

“Well, it’s very nice.”

“Thank you.” Lizzie nods, gestures to the plates and glasses. “I’m just going to… change. I’ll be back,” she says, nodding at him and taking slow, backward steps out of the kitchen. “Start without me.”

 

Lizzie sits on the sofa and Red’s in the armchair opposite her. It should feel like old times, she thinks because the only thing different is them dining on pizza, but it doesn’t. Everything feels different. She’s nibbling on the crust of her third piece and she probably shouldn’t reach for another until she’s actually started conversing with him. Red's not making much of an effort either, but he is smiling at her and continuing to glance around the living room. She wonders if he’s a little nervous too. It’s lucky he didn’t arrive yesterday when the house was a mess, she thinks. She spent two hours last night cleaning before bed and, as much as she loathes cleaning, she’s sure that it helped her sleep. 

She licks her lips again, reaches for her wine glass, takes a sip and stares at him over the rim. He would have to be the cleanest pizza eater she’s ever seen. Not one piece of cheese has hung from his freshly shaven chin and he’s had four pieces now. It’s observant of her–it’s her profiling she thinks, nothing else–because she noticed the faint scratch of stubble on his chin at work today, and now it’s gone. He’s removed his tie and foregone the fedora also. 

“So,” she says, clearing her throat because they haven’t spoken in minutes now. “How long are you here for?”

“I have to leave tomorrow morning.”

Liz blinks and rests the wine glass on her knee; her fingers tighten around the stem. 

“Tomorrow?”

Red shifts in his seat, looks a bit uncomfortable at her surprise.

“I have to meet with someone in the late afternoon… and the time is unfortunately non-negotiable.”

“You came here for one night?”

Now he looks sheepish, she think, and the tips of his ears have turned pink.

“Yes.” Red responds, reaches for a napkin off the table to dab at the corners of his mouth. “I thought you might like to talk.”

“About?”

Red looks at her softly, his smile swapped with tight-lipped concern. “The young girl.”

“Oh, I’m okay.”

“You were understandably upset.”

“Thanks for that by the way…” Liz nods then flickers her gaze over his shoulder to the window behind him. The birds nest is still safely tucked in the tree. “Thanks for talking to me.”

“We can keep talking if you wish.”

“I do feel better,” Lizzie says, continuing to stare out the window because the other option of looking at him is too intense. “It just took a while to… accept the fact that sometimes doing everything you can is… just not enough.” 

“Yes.”

“I guess coming home to and empty house also didn’t help.” Liz looks back at him now and smiles. “But the phone call did.”

 

It’s later on, when Red is telling her about his latest run in with Madeline Pratt–who Red apparently has no sympathy for after her latest antics–that Lizzie thinks they’ve eased themselves back into their usual easy banter. Everything feels back to normal between them.

“I don’t know why you still trust her.”

“Oh, trust me. I don’t believe a thing Madeline Pratt says.”

“She tried to kill you and not just the once.”

“It’s like an exciting game of cat and mouse between us.”

“It’s absurd. She’s not a nice woman, Red.”

Red tilts his head, smiles and turns his palms up on either arm rest. “I know, Lizzie.”

“But you’ll probably see her in a week or two.” Lizzie says, smiling at him despite the twang of jealously she feels. Red’s obsessed with Madeline Pratt, Liz is sure of it. 

“I don’t think so. Not if it gets you so worked up.”

“I’m not worked up," she scoffs.

“You’re not?”

“No.”

 

Next time Lizzie glances out the window behind Red, she’s surprised how dark it is outside. She still needs to apologize, tell him she wants to continue speaking to him over the phone (even more so after tonight) and for him to maybe visit more often if he likes. Red seems so at home here in her house, which she’s not sure if it’s saying very much because Red can be at home anywhere, but he does seem genuinely happy to be here.

And then while she’s busy thinking the best way to go around telling him, she doesn’t notice Red move to stand from the sofa he’s been sitting in for the last four and a half hours.

She’s not sure where the time went.

“I’ve had a lovely evening with you, Lizzie.”

She stands also, clasps her hands in front of her and smiles at him. She watches him retrieve his phone from his pocket and then, after a second or two of watching him squint at the phone screen, she wants to laugh at his bewildered expression.

“You okay?”

“This phone is frozen or… these tiny buttons are not working.”

“Here,” Lizzie says, taking the phone from his grip. “You want to ring Dembe?”

“Yes. Can you fix it?”

“Let me see…” Liz smiles. The good thing with Red’s old school phone is she can just pull the battery out. She reassembles it quickly, powers it on and is rather amused at how impressed Red looks by it all. “Magic,” she says as she waits for his phone to load.

Liz goes to his call history to find Dembe’s number only to see that while there are a few calls both to and from Dembe the list consists of ‘Lizzie’ and all Red's outgoing calls that she would not answer.

She glances up at him, but he’s oblivious to what she’s doing.

"I’m sorry for not answering your calls.”

“It is fine, Lizzie.” He says almost dismissively, still looking down at his phone, waiting for her to call Dembe.

“I wanted to… I just… couldn’t. And please don’t ask me to explain because I’m not sure I can.”

lifts his gaze to her, looks as if he's about to say something then thinks better of it. “Dembe’s number two.”

“Huh?”

“On speed dial."

“Oh, of course.” She hands the phone back to him. “You can do it.”

Red wastes no time in lifting the phone to his ear and calling Dembe. The conversation is quick, too quick to give Liz time to gather her thoughts. She said sorry, but it all just seemed a bit awkward. Or Red just didn't want to hear it. She follows him as he picks both their wine glasses and the two pizza boxes from the table and carries them out into the kitchen.

“You don’t have to do that.” She says, when he starts to rinse the glasses.

But Red just gives her a look that tells her, yes, he does and he will.

“Would you like me to put the rest of the pizza into the fridge?”

“Sure. Thank you.” Liz responds.

Liz sits on the edge of the table outside on the patio and stares down at her shoes. Red’s waiting on the top step staring up at the night sky. Dembe shouldn’t be too far off and then Red will be gone again. It’s silent between them again, and Lizzie struggles to think of what to say.

Then the black Sudan rolls up, and Liz hates Dembe's punctuality sometimes. Red makes his way down the steps and Liz follows quickly. Dembe hops out, smiles at them both and Liz stops just beside Red, blocking off his access to the front passenger door.

“Hi, Dembe.” She says.

“Agent Keen. I hope you are well?”

“Yes, thank you. You haven’t been to the post office in a while. I think Ressler’s missing you.”

Dembe gives a quick, quiet chuckle. “I will be in later next week." Then he nods in her direction, hops back inside the car and shuts the door.

Lizzie turns to face Red and stares up at him. “Thanks for visiting.”

"I wanted to."

He reaches his right hand out and touches it to her shoulder. Lizzie watches his hand as it travels down her bare arm and gently along her wrist. His fingers tickle as they cross her scar and his thumb feels cool on the topside. He's staring down at her hand too, and when he gets there, he gives it a small squeeze then drops it when he looks at back to her. 

“Will you be alright?”

He sounds almost upset; his voice is hoarse and unsure. He's been so worried, and she wishes she answered all of his calls.

“Yeah.”

He nods and Lizzie knows that if she does nothing now then later on she’ll regret it. So, before Red has time to gently step around her to open his door, she steps forward and wraps her arms around him. 

Red says nothing, doesn't even tense, and he follows in her direction. He wraps one arm around her waist and rests his other hand on the side of her head as she rests it against his chest. She's breathing deeply, presses her nose under his jacket and doesn't even care if he notices her doing it. His scent is comforting and she needs to make the most of it while she can.

It doesn’t last too long, but it’s enough to make Lizzie feel safe, so she steps back–a few steps so she won’t touch him again– and smiles at him.

“Bye.”

"...Lizzie."

"You should get in the car, Red."

Oh, god, now he's done it, she thinks. He took too long to get in the car, and now she has to tilt her head back and blink frantically.

"Please go because I'm going to cry I think." She continues, looking back at him and wiping at her eyes. "And I really don't want to. Ugh, god." She says, squeezing her eyes shut. "This has nothing to do with you leaving. I swear."

Red hesitates, just for a second, then looks away from her and opens the door. He slides himself into the seat, shuts the door behind him quickly, so he's hidden behind the tinted window. 

Then he's gone. Just like that.


	6. Not One but Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red and Liz share another phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own The Blacklist or the characters. So sorry for the long wait :) (also tried to do lots of dialogue in this one... hopefully it works.)

Lizzie can’t sleep. She grips the thick, maroon material which covers her bedroom window and gruffly pulls it to the side. It’s still wet outside; thick drops of rain track down the glass, and they look like tears. She wants to wipe them all away but she’s standing on the wrong side.

She groans – and it’s one of those long and exaggerated sounds she used to do as a teenager – and she presses her forehead against the cool glass. 

Men.

Red.

No, not Red.

Reddington.

She’s so mad at him. And she hates the whole sullen teenage ‘why hasn’t he talked to me all week?’ attitude she has going on, but it’s his fault, and she can’t shake it. Screw him for not calling her, for not answering her numerous calls.

Who does he think he is?

The weather’s been miserable the past three days but her moods been worse. She presses her palm against the window, spreads her fingers and watches the drops of rain disappear behind her hand. She feels so alone. She doesn’t want to come home to an empty apartment anymore. Last week she spent the evening with Red, and now she wants to again and again and again. Every night. Worrying her bottom lip between her front teeth has become a habit. She’s not sure where Red is, what he’s doing, or if he’s planning on coming back.

If he could call her she would relax.

He's made her miss him.

In a moment of longing, she imagines her phone ringing, pictures herself darting across the carpet like a graceful ballerina to pick it up. But it’s already past ten at night, and Red probably thinks she needs to sleep for work in the morning (in her imagination she forgets he hasn’t called her all week). Little does her imaginary Red know is that she’s already turned off her seven am alarm. Liz won’t be going into work until late morning.

So why can’t he ring? 

Why hasn’t he rung?

Lizzie wants to sleep tonight; the day has dragged and her eyes are itchy and dry from blue light. She turns away from the window and stares at her messy bed. She had attempted sleep earlier and failed; she twisted in her sheets for an hour, flipped her pillow over three times to find the cool side. 

If she calls him, gets him to answer, sleep will come; she’s sure of it.

Yes, she will call him.

But this will be the last time.

She considers sending a message first and to use the excuse that he must answer for work reasons only, but that idea will come back to bite her, she knows, when he answers and she turns into a mute.

So Lizzie dials his number – she just taps number one on her keypad – and Dembe picks up.

“Agent Keen. It’s Dembe.”

“Dembe?” Lizzie responds, pulls the phone from her ear to check the number again. She did dial Red, didn’t she? “How are you?”

“I’m good. I hope you’re well?”

She needs to hide her disappointment. Why is Dembe picking up Red's phone? 

“Yes.” Flustered now, she clears her throat. “I was uh… Is Red okay? You’re using his phone?”

“He’s fine.” Dembe’s voice is gentle and reassuring. “He left his phone on the table. He’s resting, but he’s been in his room for a while now. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you. I will go and get him.”

“Wait!” She panics, says it too loudly. “No. I… It’s… he hasn’t called in over a week…” She trails off, walking away from the window and towards her bed to pull up the covers and make it look somewhat presentable. For who, she doesn’t know. “And he hasn’t been answering my calls.”

“He hasn’t?”

Dembe’s surprise startles her and she stops fluffing with the pillows to sit on the edge of the bed. Interesting, she thinks. She pushes her toes into the carpet, rubs off the dusting of mineral powder she spilled in the morning with the heel of her foot. She looks closer at the stain, realizes she’s just spreading the makeup, and she’s still on the phone to Dembe, who is waiting for a reply.

“No.” She sighs, tilts her head back to look up at the ceiling. “He’s busy? Maybe? It’s okay…I was worried. I should have just called you and asked I guess.” 

“I will get him.”

“No. No don't. Just… tell him I called, okay?”

Or maybe Dembe could just pretend she hadn’t called at all. That would be nice, easier. 

“Please hold on, Elizabeth.” Dembe says. “I’m going to get him.”

Frustrated, Lizzie clenches her jaw until her teeth go weak. She wants to protest, tell Dembe not to bother. Why is he bothering? She tightens her free hand into a small fist on her lap. Dammit, why did she call again? And now there’s no point hanging up because Red will know she did, and then what if he doesn’t call her back? What would she do then? What has she even done?

This is humiliating.

Dembe doesn’t even have a fair reason – or any reason for that matter – for Reddington’s lack of communication. The body guard’s soft voice is in her right ear now, and what he says makes her nose wrinkle. 

“It’s Elizabeth,” Dembe says. “She sounds worried.”

Oh, Dembe… She wouldn’t go that far… She’s not worried… not really (she’s kind of just worried for her own sake now). She feels sick, nervous, sad maybe? Because Red’s been avoiding her, and she knows it has to do with her. He hasn’t been busy, and he’s not in trouble. It’s her. Is he over it? Did he bring dinner around to her house just last week, stay there for hours and hug her, pull her close, then think ‘let’s not do that again’.

For the next few seconds she hears nothing and is left with her own insecure thoughts. She imagines Red shaking his head, mouthing ‘no’ to Dembe. That would be childish of him though, surely? He wouldn’t do that.

And then he’s on the phone.

“Lizzie!” His voice booms, and she loves –but mostly hates – the way her heart picks. She scolds herself quickly, reminds herself she’s angry with him.

Red sounds normal; he sounds just like he did last week. 

“How are you? I’ve heard the weathers been absolutely atrocious in DC. It’s meant to ease over the next few days, however. You haven’t experienced any power cuts have you?”

As he greets her, rambles on about the weather and mundane things, she wonders whether he felt like this when she wouldn’t answer his calls. A nuisance. Annoying. Clingy. She feels her heart slow, feels her body – maybe her mood, she doesn’t even know – deflate as she lays back on her bed. What should she say now? Why did she call again? Why does she ever call him? It’s never for anything important.

“It’s pretty wet,” she replies lamely.

“You should take some leave, Lizzie. Travel somewhere warm… relax … I happen to have this little batch-”

“Red?” 

He pauses for a second. Then she hears him click his tongue on the roof of his mouth. 

“Yes?”

“What’s going on?” She asks him. “Have I done something?”

“Have you done something?” He repeats slowly. “What do you mean?”

Lizzie throws a hand over her eyes. This would be one of those moments, she thinks, where she wishes she didn’t have feelings for him. Because he’s insufferable. She knows that he knows exactly what she means. Reddington. Her feelings for him are everywhere, and she feels them all the time, but if he were here, next to her, she would grasp the front of his shirt, pull him close and tell him how much he infuriates her. How much she can’t stand him.

“I don’t mean to sound hypocritical,” Lizzie says, remaining calm. “I know I have done the exactly same thing to you but… I haven’t heard from you since last week.”

“It’s been that long?”

Her cheeks flare. He sounds so surprised, like the time has just whizzed by for him, like –

“Have I done something?” She repeats evenly.

Red sighs, and Liz listens closely, so closely, that she can hear him shuffling around, papers rustling, and then the click of a door. 

“Lizzie… of course you haven’t.” 

“Did I say something?”

“No.” He says and then again, deeper this time. “No.”

“Do something?”

“Lizzie-”

“Is it because I cried in front of you?”

She runs her free hand over the covers on her bed, picks at a loose thread on the embroidery. She waits for a ‘no’ but doesn’t receive it. 

“It is, isn’t it?” She continues. “I’m sorry. I was… I think… It had been a long week. And you were there for such a short time and-”

“Elizabeth. Can you stop?”

“I didn’t mean to dump everything on you.”

“You didn’t.”

“But I do. All the time, really.”

“I admit that I’ve had some… concerns.” Red replies carefully. She can hear nervous breathing, wonders if she should be nervous too, wonders why he’s speaking so softly. Is he going to let her down gently? “But it’s clear now I’ve dealt with them in entirely the wrong way. I’ve been foolish. Don’t ever think that you feeling comfortable enough to tell me things, seek support from me, is something I don’t want. I’m always here for you, for whatever reason, and you know that.”

“What concerns do you have?”

“Ahh. You see…” Red releases a breathy chuckle and Lizzie sits up straighter just because of the sound. It’s sweet and hesitant. “I’m concerned about our relationship.”

“What about it?”

“Speaking to you over the phone is… wonderful, soothing. I enjoy each and every phone call more than you could possibly imagine, Lizzie.”

“And that's bad?”

“I fear I’m becoming… almost reliant on them.” 

Lizzie’s eyebrows shoot upwards. Reliant? It wasn’t quite what she was expecting, but then she’s not sure what she was expecting; she was expecting the worse.

“Reliant?” 

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

There’s a pause again. Then, in a tone that suits a close, intimate encounter with him, he says, “I’m so glad you called.”

“I’ve been call…ing.”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie. I’m sorry I’ve upset you.”

“It’s okay.”

"No, it's not." He sounds genuinely annoyed with himself. “Do you still have that second bottle of wine I left with you?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Share a drink with me.”

 

****

 

“How about Fiji? I have this little place you could stay at which is right over one of the more isolated lagoons. I have this hammock set up there, Lizzie, it hangs over the water…. and… well, I wouldn’t recommend sleeping in it if you’re a restless sleeper.”

Lizzie laughs. “Did you fall in the water?"

"Luckily i had my swimwear on."

Lizzie grins. "Sounds nice... the hammock, Fiji, I mean.” 

“You could go diving. Have you been diving before?”

“No.”

“You’ll love it.”

“When were you last in Fiji?”

“I haven’t been there in years.”

Lizzie hums and readjusts the pillows stuffed behind her back. She’s sitting up in bed, sipping wine and talking to Red. How her day has changed, how her mood has brightened. She knows she’ll be able to sleep after this. She is also on her second glass of wine now because she can sleep in and why not? Also, she wants to steer their conversation towards their ‘relationship’ soon and she needs just a little liquid courage. She wonders if he’s getting tired, only to remember that he said he’s in Beijing and it’s during the day there.

“No business meetings today?”

“Nothing important. Are you feeling tired, Lizzie?”

“No. No, I’m not tired.” She clears her throat. She’s not ready to hang up yet. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course you can.”

“Why are you worried about us speaking so often?”

“Let me answer that question of yours with a question of my own.”

“Oh. Sure,” Lizzie teases. “As if there’s any other way.”

Red ignores her little jibe. “Have you been on any… social outings lately?” 

“Social outings?” Feeling amused, she smiles, takes another sip of her wine. “Are you going to tell me off for not having a social life? Because that’s rude, Red. I… I go out every now and then…” She can’t remember the last time she went out, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sure you do, but no. I was referring to dates, Lizzie.”

In a no so elegant reply, Lizzie coughs and reaches out to place her wine glass on the bedside table. 

“Oh god.”

Wine dribbles down her chin and she wipes at it with the back of her hand. 

“Is everything alright,” she hears.

“I just spilt wine on my new sheets.” Lizzie says and begins to rubs frantically at the stain. “It’s okay… It’s not too bad.” 

It was terrible, the stain expanding as her eyes widened. Her brand new, pristine white and one hundred percent cotton sheets. She should probably soak them but doesn’t want to end the conversation with Red.

“Did I catch you off guard?” He sounds so smug, and she’s determined to not let him know that yes, he did. 

“I haven’t been on any dates since Tom.”

“Do you think you’re ready?”

“… I haven’t really thought about it, but what does this have to do with you and me?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t have anything to do with us. Curious, I suppose.”

“You said you were answering my question with a question.” Lizzie responds. “I’m struggling to find the answer in your question…”

“I’m not sure I’m able to articulate it any better while over the phone with you, Lizzie.”

“Well, that sort of stuff is not on my mind at all. Dates and whatever.”

“Perhaps one day.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, no. Not if you have that frame of mind.”

Lizzie swallows back her annoyance, disappointment. “I can’t believe you’re trying to make me-”

“I’m not, Lizzie.” Red interjects. “I’m not trying to make you do anything.”

“It’s the last thing on my mind.” 

“What’s the first thing on your mind?”

At his low timbre, she can just imagine the slow blink of hooded eyes. Lizzie smiles and feels oddly flirtatious. Is he feeling the same? The wine that she’s been drinking may be playing a part, but she doesn’t care. 

“Finishing this glass of wine,” she says, then quieter, close to a whisper, “… and talking to you.”

“Sound fascinating.”

“It is.”

“... But not quite the same as in person.”

“No.”

“Take some time off,” he breathes, and she curls on her side, pulls the covers up and over her shoulders.

“And do what?” She asks. “I’ll be lucky to get three days at the moment. It’s not worth spending two of those days travelling to… say… Fiji.”

“Here’s a suggestion: take the three days and I’ll come visit you.”

“What? Really? You’ll come visit?”

“If it’s something you would like?”

“Yes. I mean… sure. If it’s not a hassle. If you want to. Do you want to?”

“I’ll take you out somewhere nice.” 

“Really?” 

“Wine and dine you.”

“Sounds like you’re taking me on a date, Red.”

“Oh, I’m definitely taking you on a date, Lizzie. Three in fact.”

The turn in their conversation has taken surprises her. Excites her immensely. Only hours ago Red hadn’t been in contact, and now he’s planning on visiting and taking her on not one but three dates? 

“I don’t know.” Liz replies. “It seems a little harsh to take someone on three dates then disappear half across the world for who knows how long.”

“I think it depends. If the dates are horrendous and you realize you hold no feelings for the person, it could be a blessing. ”

“But what if all three dates are perfect and you realize your feelings are even stronger than you initially thought?”

“A long discussion would be required if such a scenario were to happen. Forgive me, Lizzie, but are we still talking about you and me here?”

“I don’t know.” Lizzie says. "You tell me."

"I'd like to think that we are."

"What would this long discussion include then?"

"I'm very much looking forward to finding out." Red says. "I have so much to tell you, Lizzie."


	7. Date One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone call, a date, and one more phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own The Blacklist or the characters. Thank you heaps for comments + kudos :)

Lizzie doesn’t tell her co-workers Red is due to arrive in three hours. During their impromptu afternoon meeting, Cooper asks her if there’s somewhere she needs to be; she has taken many not-so-subtle glances at her watch. In fact, she thinks she’s looked at it more times than Aram has smiled at Samar across the meeting room – he isn’t very discreet either. Thankfully, Lizzie’s holiday request for three days off (Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday) was accepted with no hesitations or questions posed about what she had planned. A thought enters the back of her mind as she listens to Ressler wrap up; they all – Ressler, Samar, Aram and Cooper – are pleased she is taking time off. Perhaps, even relieved. After the death of Molly Alexander, everyone is still slightly sensitive towards her. 

“Have a good few days, Liz.” Aram says as he passes her. "You probably want a break from us for the next few days, but, but if you wanna go out for a uh, coffee, let me know.”

He’s very sweet and, in some friend-secret-sharing sort of way, she so wants to tell him Red is visiting her. She wonders what Aram would think if she told him about her frequent contact with Red, her feelings towards the older man. If there was someone to confide in, would it be Aram? Maybe Samar? The thought of telling Ressler is ridiculous; he would freak out, she’s so sure of it. But Aram? Maybe he would understand.

“I will,” she responds, deciding to not say anything. She slips her laptop in it's case and walks with him to the lift. Maybe, if things go well – and she feels brave enough – she’ll tell Aram over a latte. 

She may even tell him Red is taking her on three dates.

 

****

 

She decides on a dress she’s never worn before. Like many of her nicer articles of clothing, it is hidden away in the corner of her wardrobe, one sleeve falling off the clothes hanger, creases lining the thin material. If Red is wearing a suit, which he will be, she feels the need to wear something that doesn't include her black jeans or dark green blouse. 

Liz stands in front of the long mirror, runs her hands down the black skirt on the dress. It stops two inches above the knee, and she hopes it’s suitable for whatever Red has planned for them. Because it took her long enough to iron the damn thing. It’s summery – with its floral top and short sleeves - and though it’s not expensive, she’s paired it with some black heels, so she thinks she looks okay. She can’t recall the last time she dressed up, or even took the time to think about what to wear. 

She tells herself she’s not feeling that nervous. Red messaged her last night, just a short, polite text, saying he would pick her up at seven; he will arrive in fifteen minutes. She meets her gaze in the mirror, blinks a couple of times.

She’s not nervous. 

It’s becoming more of a mantra than an actual fact.

Then her phone rings; the tune runs through her Bluetooth speaker, cuts through the lazy afternoon playlist she put on when she got home. As she walks towards her bed to pick up her mobile, she has this horrible feeling that it’s going to be work calling her back in. 

An urgent case.

Luckily, it’s Red.

She quickly disconnects the Bluetooth. Although, wouldn’t it be nice to hear his voice rumbling through the speakers?

“Hey,” she answers, lifts the underside of her wrist to her nose; the perfume she sprayed earlier is still there – it’s light and fruity. 

“Lizzie.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Of course! How are you? In fact, I’m already here. And I seem to have brought the sun with me… It’s a beautiful evening.”

“It’s definitely a change from last week,” Lizzie agrees, licks her lips. That fifteen minutes went too fast; she'll have to forgo the lipstick. “You’re outside? My place?” 

“In the car, yes. I’m a tad early… I was wanting to ask you whether you’d rather eat in tonight or go out. I wasn’t sure what time you finished work, so if you’re feeling at all tired we have the option of staying in. However, the choice is entirely yours – I've been told there’s going to be a magnificent sunset tonight.”

Lizzie stops herself from sneaking over to the window and peering outside. Is he sitting in the car or leaning against the door? Will he come and knock on her door or will she go out to meet him? Instead of peeping, she tilts her head down to look at the black heels she wears. 

She’s all dressed up.

Well, for her, she’s all dressed up.

“I don’t mind,” she replies honestly. “But if we stay in… I think I’ll need to change.”

“What are you wearing?”

“A dress.”

There’s a brief pause, and she’s about to tell him it’s nothing special but she feels oddly embarrassed. 

“Let’s go out then shall we?”

“If you’re jet-lagged or anything, Red. I’m just as happy to stay in.”

“Make sure you bring a warm coat, Lizzie.” Red responds, bypassing her comment. “We’ll be eating outside.”

“Okay,” Lizzie murmurs, starts hunting around her room to find her purse. 

"You alright?"

"Finding my purse."

She finds it on her dresser, puts it in the small black handbag she has hanging on the door handle. Back in front of the mirror, for one last check, with her phone still at her ear, Liz watches the fingers on her left hand drum against her thigh. She puffs her cheeks and releases a small burst of breath. "Red?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m a bit-“ she begins hesitantly, then pauses because the doorbell chimes. She swallows back her sentence, claims it to be silly and instead rushes out, “oh, nothing. Coming-”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’ll open the door.”

“Lizzie, wait.”

She stops. With one heel in front of the other she stares at the door. Is it alright to feel relieved? That she can have just a moment longer to not … see him? It’s not that she doesn’t want to see him… she just… It’s hard to explain to herself, let alone him. She won't tell him. That talking to him like this, over the phone, has been so easy. But the thought of opening that door and talking him face-to-face – when their relationship has clearly changed (for the better?) - is… She is so nervous.

“Yeah?” She asks, going for nonchalant, but instead - unfortunately - pulling off a slightly higher version of her normal voice. She fiddles with the hem on her dress. Is that another wrinkle? She pats it down, stretches out the material the best she can with one hand.

“...If there is something you wanted to say…any concerns, Lizzie… Please never feel afraid to tell me what you’re thinking. If you have any worries about tonight I want to know about them.”

“No, no,” she quickly assures him, clears her throat. Her eyes are glued to the door. “I don’t have any worries. I’m just- I don’t know why... but I’m a little nervous.”

“Understandable,” Red replies immediately, and Liz can see the shadows from his shoes through the gap under the door. “Truth be told, I’m rather anxious too. But I promise you… tonight will be thoroughly enjoyable, comfortable.”

Lizzie smiles softly, watches the shadows pace. “Why are you nervous?”

“It’s universally known that first dates are incredibly nerve-wracking for both parties. And unfortunately, I’ve learned tonight, that it doesn’t make it any easier when you already know the person... But we'll have a good time, Lizzie. I'll make sure of it.”

“And I do suppose I'm feeling rather edgy since I've been standing outside your front door for a few minutes now… yet I still haven’t been let in. I’m beginning to shift on my feet-”

Lizzie quickly ends the call, feels two spots of color blush her cheek bones. She walks quickly to open the door. It’s not her fault he stopped her! Leaving him outside like that. However, it does makes her feel better knowing she’s not the only one feeling uneasy. She opens the door wide, sees his navy coat before anything else.

“Hi,” she says, flashing him a quick smile. Her eyes dart everywhere, never staying on one particular part of him for too long. “Sorry.”

“Your hair.”

My hair?

Oh.

Lizzie nods, casts her eyes down and away from his surprised expression. She looks at the brown curls falling just below her shoulders. 

“Back to the dark side...”

“You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” 

"The dress... and you." 

She looks down at her phone, not to shy away from his comments but to press the sleep button on the side of her phone.

“So, we’re going out?” She says, looking back up at him. 

Red's smirk is well intact, smug as ever, and she feels a surge of frustration run through her. He clearly isn't nervous, showering her with compliments and adoring eyes.

“What?” She asks, feeling flustered under his gaze.

“Nothing,” he says, begins to button up the vest under his coat. “I have a picnic prepared in the car. I was thinking we could visit Meridian Hill.”

“That sounds nice,” she says softer. She hasn't been there in months.

“You’ll need that coat, Lizzie.”

 

***

 

Everything is great, comfortable, just like Red promised. It’s such a change to be walking along the side walk with him – she sure he’s closer than usual – and making small talk about the most simple things. It’s so nice, she thinks, to not have criminals to discuss, to have to hear and learn about the horrible things happening in the world. It’s good to escape for just a while. Instead, he tells her about Dembe – who, to her surprise did not drive them here, Red did – and he asks her about the terrible weather DC suffered last week. 

It really does feel like a first date.

Although, it’s not as strained as some of her other first dates. She isn't searching her brain trying to think of conversation starters. Red has plenty for the both of them.

“I’m going to take my heels off,” she says as they stop before the large circle of grass they intend to sit on. “Or else I’ll sink into the ground.”

Red lets out a chuckle, places the basket he holds on the ground and extends his hand to provide support. It’s such a natural gesture from him, and she's missed it more than she'd like to admit. She hasn't been touched, like this, by anyone else, in forever. She places her left hand in his offered hand – his palm is so familiar; it's just as soft and rough and warm as she remembers. Pressing down on it, Liz lifts one foot then the other to remove her heels. She smiles up at him when she struggles to pull off her right heel, hops on her left foot a bit. Then she carries the shoes in her left hand, Red picks the food basket up, and they begin walking again. The grass feels crisp and cool under her feet. It’s quiet now; both of them say nothing.

Lizzie knows the silence is because her hand is still in his. She glances down at their joined palms. His thumb begins to brush over her knuckles, and she looks at him. 

He reflects her small, shy smile.

They pass a few families, couples, basically they just keep moving until they find a more secluded area to sit.

Red has not released her hand.

“Is here alright?”

“Perfect.”

Red does drop her hand now and begins to spread out the blue-and-white striped rug. She quirks a smile as he gets down on his knees, pats the rug, irons out the corners until it’s the most well placed picnic rug she’s ever seen.

“I feel so guilty for never actually making the most of this place.” Lizzie says.

“Yes,” Red agrees, and she watches him slip off his coat, vest, and sit down with a small huff. “We should do this more often.”

****

“I could fall asleep.”

And she so wants him to. Liz knows he needs to rest.

He lays on his back, hands folded on his stomach. Their bellies are both filled with various tapas and wine and sweets. Red certainly knows how to put together a picnic. She hasn't been fed this well in an awful long time. He made her try everything. Liz sits up still, legs curled at her side, and she watches him. There’s a spot of sun on the end of his chin, his eyes are closed; he looks incredibly relaxed.

“Go ahead,” she tells him.

His nose twitches and the left of his lips curves upwards. His voice is deep and sleepy when he speaks. It's evidence, she thinks: he most definitely is jet-lagged, exhausted, both.

“I find falling asleep while on a date with a beautiful woman is not really acceptable.”

“I would have had worse first dates,” she grins.

One of his eyes pop open, curious and green. 

“Really?”

“Although, I’m sure they’d pale in comparison to any of your first date stories.”

He laughs and sits up; there's a new found energy coursing through him. He leans his palm on the rug and tilts his head from side to side as he looks at her.

“I’ve had my fair share of… odd… rendezvous,” Red admits.

“Probably life threatening.”

“Perhaps. I won’t go in to them just now, but they undoubtedly make this one all the more-”

“Pedestrian?”

“Special.”

Lizzie lets out a small laugh, raises her eyebrows at him. She stretches a hand forward to pick a purple grape from the plate between them and pops it into her mouth.

“More wine?” Red asks.

“No, thank you,” Lizzie shakes her head. “Otherwise I’ll be the one falling asleep. It’s very nice though.”

“Isn’t it?” Red agrees, twisting the bottle to look at the label. “First time I’ve tried it.”

 

****

He doesn’t take hold of her hand on the way back to the car. He uses the restroom - rather begrudgingly because he loathes public toilets – while she puts on her heels. He still stands just as close though; the sleeves of his white shirt brushes against her bare arms, and she's this close to weaving her arm through his. She doesn't though. The drive home is slow; Red cruises along, seeming to enjoy the feel of a gear-stick under his hand, the steering wheel slide beneath his palms.

“Did you want to do something tomorrow?”

Liz turns her head away from the street lights, watches his profile as the car stops at a red light. He changes the gear, presses the clutch in and looks at her.

“I thought that was the plan,” she smiles.

“I was just making sure,” Red replies, releasing the clutch and easing forward in the traffic. “What time will you be free?”

“Any time after two.” Lizzie responds, feeling like she’s been staring at his smooth cheek for too long. She looks ahead instead, sees her street sign coming into view. “I have some cleaning to do tomorrow, and I was thinking of seeing Aram for lunch.”

Red only nods. She wonders what he has planned for his day tomorrow. The car pulls up outside her place, and Lizzie remains seated, pretends to struggle with her belt buckle because she knows Red will want to open her door for her. He does and she thanks him as they walk up her driveway.

“Where are you staying at the moment?”

“Hemstead's.”

“You love that place.”

“You should come around again, Lizzie,” he says joyfully. “I’ve found some very interesting poems you’d probably enjoy, and there's still a couple of bottles of that potent alcohol lying around.”

“Mmm.” Lizzie grins, making a wincing noise between her teeth. “Yeah. I don’t know if I’m entirely sold on that stuff.”

“An acquired taste. I assure you.” Red chuckles. He moves to sits on one of the small stainless-steel seats on the patio and watches her rustle in her small handbag.

Liz picks out the keys, finds the green one on the chain and unlocks her door. Before pushing the door open, she glances at his fedora placed on the outdoor table, “do you want to come in?”

“I would love to, but I need to make a call to Dembe and sort a few things out before I succumb to sleep. Dembe is expecting my call.” He stands, steps closer towards her. “Thank you for tonight, Lizzie. I hope it was enjoyable?”

“It was ... the best night I've had in a long while, Red.”

"Ah, so expectations are set high for tomorrow."

"I'm sure you'll do okay."

“I’ll call you tomorrow, then.”

Lizzie smiles. She’d probably laugh if she he wasn’t so close. Is he going to kiss her or? Because his gaze is dancing between her lips and her eyes, and she's pretty sure she's doing the same. Something happens, she doesn't know exactly what, but his lips quirk up too – like he knows exactly what she’s thinking - and then he turns, picks up his fedora, places it neatly on his head and makes his way down the small staircase.

“Goodnight, Lizzie,” he calls.

****

 

It’s later, when Liz is throwing the thick blanket off her bed and pulling just a sheet over her, when Red calls. She gets comfortable, turns off the lamp on her bedside table so the room is dark, and then answers his call.

“Hello?”

“Did I wake you?”

“No, I only just got into bed. Did you get hold of Dembe?”

“I did speak to him briefly. I was actually calling you, Lizzie, because I was just thinking about tomorrow. I thought I’d see if you’d take me up on the offer of having dinner in. At my place." His voice speeds up, and it's loud and vibrant. Did he just take a power nap? "I can promise you a well-cooked meal and a few different options of drinks so you don’t feel the need to try any more of this…” She hears him take a sip, swallow. “... Peculiar tasting liquid.”

“You could have messaged me,” Lizzie says.

He's silent on the other end and it makes her smile widen.

“You know, to save you from having to call.”

“I could have,” he responds, as if the idea had only just crossed his mind. “Am I calling too often, Lizzie? Is this where this teasing of yours is heading?”

Lizzie giggles – it’s high and adorable and Red needs to see her face to match the sound – then she rolls on her side, stretches an arm over her head and grabs the head board.

“You know I like it when you call me, Red,” she says, letting her arm fall slack at her side. “And your plan for tomorrow sounds great.”

“Wonderful. I can’t wait. Well, I suppose I can let you go and sleep now.”

"Are you going to sleep?"

"Soon."

“You could have called Dembe at my place.” 

“I know.”

"Okay. Right, I'm actually going to go to sleep now. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Ring me when you're free; I would like to pick you up. Have a good sleep, Lizzie... And thank you for the company tonight."


	8. Magic Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz wakes feeling unwell. Will a phone call to Red help?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the comments (i love reading them!) and kudos! :) :) I do not own The Blacklist or the characters. ( this chapters been split in two so next one will be out in next couple of days)

It was just Lizzie’s luck to wake up feeling unwell.

It’s five in the morning when she twitches out of a restless sleep. She was in and out of sleep most of the night and it's the sharp, constant pain above her left eye which startles her awake so early. She rolls onto her back, wipes a hand across the side of her face. At first, she thinks she’s slept on a funny angle, had her neck twisted all night. But when she sits up and rests back on her elbows, shakes her head slowly from side to side, the pain is still there, pulsing under her eyelid. She groans. No, no, no, no. Because while she doesn’t get migraines often – it’s been years since she last had one - when they do come they like to hang around. She’s going to waste a full day nursing a headache. On her day off too.

She presses her cool palm over the sore eye. There are pain killers in the bathroom, and she knows she should get out of bed and take them immediately. The quicker the better, her dad used to say. So Liz drags herself out from under the sheets with the small hope that standing will heal her. It doesn’t, and she feels unsteady on her feet. With one hand stretched out in front of her, and the other cupping her forehead, she walks blindly towards the bathroom. Reluctantly, Liz switches the bathroom light on and winces at the brightness. She's sure it's never usually this intense. At least her vision hasn’t gone blurry. The migraines she used to get at college affected her sight. Sometimes she'd have flashing lights, other times half of an object would disappear. But that often meant the headache wouldn’t be as bad or last as long. Hopefully this time - she actually crosses her fingers very quickly - the wobbly vision came and went during her sleep. She finds the paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet, knocks over a bottle of mouthwash in the process, then swallows two pills with water straight from the tap. She turns off the light immediately and hangs her head to take a few deep breaths.

Why now? Why out of _every single day_ of the year does she have to get a headache when she has three days off from work? It’s unfair and it’s not right and Red is visiting. She leaves the bathroom, pulls the t-shirt she’s wearing off and discards it messily on the floor; she feels uncomfortable and hot and she had _so_ much planned for the day. She was going to be _productive._ Clean the house, buy food, and then, at some point, she was going to have a moment to just think about her and Red. And what on earth they were doing. Going on dates and calling each other up like they were absolutly smitten with one another.

Despite her aching head she smiles, thinks that if her head wasn't so sore she'd ring him.

Then she remembers it's half five in the morning and Red would be asleep.

Miserably, she crawls back into bed and pulls the bed sheet over her head.

Sleep will help.

***

She wakes again at nine but does not open her eyes. The pain is still present. She should sleep longer, stay in bed until the pain dissipates. But her throat is parched and more pain medicine would help. Liz slides ungracefully out of bed. It’s a perfect day outside; she can see a streak of unblemished blue in the gap between her curtains. Her room is dark and moody, another world. Outside, it's an ideal day for lunch with Aram; they could sit outside or take their coffees to the local park.

She messages Aram at eleven to cancel their plans.

After a shower - she tries both hot and cold water pressure on her forehead (neither work) - she returns to bed before twelve hoping to get rid of the ache within the next hour. She will not cancel her plans with Red. He came all this way to see her.

Lizzie doesn’t sleep. It’s still hot and she’s not tired and she’s in pain and why aren’t the damn pain killers _working?_ She’s had four of them now. Easing herself up, she sits in bed with her back against the headboard. She massages around her left eye with the tips of her fingers, tickles the skin there, prods at it. It doesn’t work. She goes out to the kitchen, finds an ice pack and holds it over her eye. Nothing works. She rustles around in her wardrobe, grabs the sleep mask from her travelling suitcase and pulls it over her head.

She just needs to rest.

For a little longer.

At one, it’s marginally better. Thank god. She feels well enough to open her curtains and see what she’s been missing. Perhaps, she’ll make a tea and sit on her sofa for a while. Open the window and let some fresh air in. Surely another hour or two will rid the last of the pain. She will then have to start getting ready to see Red. The thought of dressing up, or to look at least somewhat presentable is too exhausting to even think about let alone _do_. She collects her phone while the water boils and finds there’s one missed call from Red and another from her hair dresser. It’s been _that_ long since she last had her hair trimmed and colored? Time really does fly, she thinks… just like her three days off are. Her phone vibrates in her hand; it’s Aram checking up on her. She sends a brief reply and asks whether he would like to go for coffee tomorrow.

Then she calls Red.

“Lizzie!”

Her eyes fall close; his voice is too bright and chirpy for her heavy head and she grimaces.

“I have a migraine,” she mutters, falling back onto the sofa and curling up in a fetal position. Her cranberry tea is left forgotten in the kitchen. She has this sudden, pathetic, urge for sympathy and Red’s going to be the one to give it to her.

She doesn’t care how she looks.

“I'm sorry, Lizzie. How long have you had it for?”

His voice has softened considerably, and while his soothing tone does nothing to fix her headache, it makes her feel slightly better. She think this is why they call each other so much. Because they make each other feel better. There we go, her one productive thing done today. She's made headway.

“I woke up with it at about five this morning.”

“No better?”

“A little bit. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you Lizzie. You do sound groggy. Is there anything you need? Anything I can bring you?”

“No, it's okay.” Liz grabs a cushion from behind her and cuddles it against her chest. “Honestly, I should probably just sleep more and it will go.”

“Alright. That does sound like the best remedy."

"Yeah."

"Would you like me to come around anyway?”

“You want to come around?”  

“I have nothing to do here but read journals with notes of poems, ideas and what not, and my eyes, Lizzie, are starting to strain from trying to read Fredrick’s awful handwriting. I'm so glad his final copies were typed. Much easier to read.”

Lizzie groans dramatically. “Don’t even mention the word _read_. The thought of reading makes me feel sick.”

“Ah. I won't mention it again. Lizzie, I'm on my way to you.”

“Thank you,” Lizzie mumbles. "For coming."

***

She leaves the front door unlocked, so when Red rings the door bell, all she needs to do is call out from her lazy position on the couch. She contemplates sitting up, going to greet him, take his coat but can’t bring herself to do so. The door shuts with a quiet thud, and Red must have taken his shoes off because his footsteps are silent except for one creak on that annoying loose floorboard (she lifted it up the very first day she moved in. Just to check nothing was under there). Red's large form stands behind the sofa and peers down at her.

“You’re very pale.”

“Mmm,” Lizzie arches her back and stretches; she turns her head slightly to rest the sore part of her head on the pillow. She smiles at him. “Why do I have to be sick on my day off?”

“It’s a shame,” Red agrees, coming around the side of the couch and removing his coat; his fingers work on each button carefully, and Liz just can’t understand how he’s not roasting hot in it. He drapes it on the edge of the coffee table and looks between the armchair by the window and the sofa she’s laying on. Liz smiles at the thought of him tossing up on where to sit. Especially since she’s selfishly taking up most of the space on the sofa. Despite this, Red decides to sit down next to her. If she lifted her head and stretched her neck she could use his lap as a pillow.

She does neither of these things.

“When did you last take something for it?”

“An hour ago,” Lizzie responds, rolling her eyes back to look up at him. She begins to sit up to give him more space, but his hand on her forehead stops her.

“May I?”

May he what? Lizzie swallows. She can see the side of his pinky and its well-kept nail; it rests over her eyebrows. Usually, his hands are warm on her skin – like yesterday when he held her hand in his - but now it’s cool and it’s _so_ much better than that ice pack she used earlier.

“What are you gonna to do?” She asks.

Both his smile and the weight of his hand on her head makes her feel quite comfy, she decides. If she could just grab his coat off the coffee table and pull it over herself she would fall asleep. Sensing her lethargic state, Red’s voice is very close to a whisper when he questions her.

“Where does it hurt?”

Liz brings her hand up and traces her fingers over the sore area. “Just around here. It is better though.”

Red nods, takes her hand away and guides it to rest at her side. He gives it a pat, silently telling her to stay still. “Close your eyes, Lizzie.”

She’s about to tell him she’s already tried, that massaging a sore head has never worked for her, but she closes her eyes anyway. Because she _has_  tried everything else and Red's touch could be just the cure. She feels the pads of his fingers dance along her skin. It’s feather light and all most ticklish but _so_ good she wouldn’t mind suggesting he do her whole head and then perhaps her body too. And even with the pain in her head, heat creeps up her neck and settles low on her cheeks. He probably notices - because she's suddenly not so pale anymore - but she’s far too gone and sleepy to care.

“I thought,” Lizzie begins, peering at him through squinted eyes. “That you would have brought around some masseuse or specialist… with you. Aren’t you a believer of acupuncture? ”

His chuckle is light and seems close to her ear. “I could have I suppose. Is this alright? Here?”

“It feels really nice…” Lizzie mumbles, her body beginning to relax. “I should have called you earlier."

"I do wish you did."

"I wanted to this morning," she admits.

"Hmm. Why didn't you?"

Lizzie smiles, opens her eyes to look up at him. "It was five thirty in the morning."

"Never too early, Lizzie. Keep your eyes closed." 

She does as he says. "Are we still going to yours tonight?”

"Let's just see how you feel, shall we?" He responds and brushes away the hair that keeps falling on her forehead.

His fingers are magic, she thinks.

"I wonder how works going." She says aloud to stop her thoughts from veering. "You know-

“Lizzie?”

“What?”

“I want you to try sleep.”


	9. What Are We Doing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie wakes and spends an evening with Red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the blacklist or the characters. Thank you so much for comments and kudos. Thank you. :)

Lizzie wakes slowly from a dream. She’s swimming laps in an over sized hot tub. Every time she takes a breath and dives under the water, her hair is smoothed and her head caressed. It feels luxurious. She floats on her back and sees Red sitting on the side of the pool; his sock covered feet are dipped in the water, staining them red. She’s swimming in red dye. He smiles at her and waves; his fancy watch shines on his wrist. She wants him to join her in the hot tub, but he’s sitting on a sofa, and she’s so sure it’s the suede sofa she has in her house.

She says his name once and then again and then wakes.

Red is not sitting on her sofa.

And she’s not swimming in a hot tub.

She stretches out her legs and arms, feels the bones in her shoulders click as she does so. A strange dream, though not her _strangest_. Red’s heavy coat moves with her as her body turns; he must have put it in on when she fell asleep. Lizzie pulls it under her nose.

She could curl up again and let it lull her back to sleep, but she’s left the man alone in her house for hours it seems judging by the drawn curtains and the dim glow of the lamp on the mantel piece. She can’t believe it’s already dark, that she slept for so long. That she let Red _massage_ her to sleep.

She sits up and lets his coat fall onto her lap. Long ago she used to wear a few of Tom’s clothes – maybe a jersey or a t-shirt on the weekends when she was too lazy to find her own. But wearing _Red’s_ clothes – his jacket or one of his long sleeved dress shirts and nothing else - seems so much more enticing. She blushes at the thought of the fabric on her skin. She quickly lays his coat over the back of the sofa.

Her headache is gone. She stands and is so surprised how _clear_ her head is. Well, it took long enough – she did waste an entire day. Although, she did get a free massage from Red’s fingers.

She hears a cough and looks down the hall; light emits from the dining room, and she walks towards it.

There he is.

There wasn’t a moment where she thought he may have left.

Red is seated in the chair at the head of the table, looking relaxed and engrossed in whatever news story he’s reading. The newspaper is spread out in front of him; he looks to be halfway through. She didn’t get the newspaper today, and she wonders if he brought it with him. Did he know she was going to sleep for hours? That he would have nothing to do? A black pen sits beside him and the crossword on the left page is filled.

“Hey.”

Red looks up and smiles.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Lizzie responds. She walks over to him and takes a seat. Black ink stains his fingers; she’s been meaning to throw that leaking pen out for months. “I can’t believe I slept for so long.”

Red watches her for a moment. Although, he’s looking right through her. Is he thinking of something else? Someone else? A frown forms on her forehead, but he glances over her shoulder to the painting she has hung on the wall. It catches his attention. Lizzie turns her head too. A stormy, barreling wave filled with black sand and white foam. Lots of greys and greens and dark blues. She found it at a garage sale months ago, bought it straight away.

“Where did you get it?”

“A garage sale. Why? Do you like it?”

“I do.” Red nods and looks at her. “My mother used to suffer from migraines.”

The change in conversations trips her.

“She’d only ever get them a day or two after a week of hard work. Christmas, for example, she would be busy all week, running around getting everything sorted for the family, and then on Boxing Day she would be on bed rest all day suffering from a terrible headache.”

“I was young and was so sure I’d be able to fix it with a head massage.” He chuckles. “Though, at that time of the year, my fingers were always so sticky from those red-and-white striped candy canes.”

Lizzie smiles at him.

“I’m glad you hadn’t been eating candy canes before coming here,” she says.

“You needn’t worry. I haven’t had one since I was thirteen.”

“Maybe i’ll get you a pack for Christmas.”

She meant it as a joke, wanted to make him laugh. But Red looks sad; the slight downturn of his lips, and those lines on his cheeks that are drawn only when his face slackens. She doesn't know whether she should ask him something else about his mother, carry the conversation on, or change the subject entirely. She wants to wrap her fingers around his hand and comfort him, like he has for her so many times before, but he has both of his hands tucked on his lap.

“Have you been here the whole time?” She asks instead, glancing at her watch. It was almost nine and he had arrived at two.

“First time I’ve completed a crossword in months,” Red responds. He smiles brightly, as if the moment before never happened. Folding the paper up, he asks, “would you like a hot drink?”

“Shouldn’t I be offering you?”

“I’m sure I can find my way around your kitchen,” he replies, hopping up from his seat. “Are you hungry?”

“Please, Red,” Lizzie says, standing with him and gesturing for him to sit back down. “Let me make _you_ something.” Her cupboards are embarrassingly scarce of food. She could probably make something basic, but she doesn’t want him seeing her empty cupboards and then scolding her for having empty cupboards.

“Lizzie,” Red sighs and rests both of his hands on the back of his chair. “I want … I said that I was going to cook you dinner tonight, and while I may not have the ingredients to cook what I wanted to here, I still want to make you something. You’ve been unwell; let me do this.” He tilts his head so his ear is close to his shoulder, and he gives her a lopsided grin. “I know it’s hard to have me rummaging around in your kitchen, but I promise to keep it clean.”

She relents, rolls her eyes and huffs.

“I literally have no food in there,” she warns him as he makes leave for her kitchen. “I was meant to do my food shopping today.”

He nods at her over his shoulder. “I’ll get started.”

“Red.”

“I promise to-”

“It’s not-”

“The-”

“Red. I’m trying to tell you something,” she says firmly. Then, softer, “and it’s not about the food.”

His mouth clamps shut as if he's been told off by an elder. She’d tease him for the small pout, but she needs him to listen.

“I just wanted you to know that… I _hope_ you know that you can talk to me about your mother or your family whenever you like. Anything you want to talk about,” she says. “I can be a good listener. You know, when I’m not throwing questions at you and demanding answers.”

Since she has nothing else to add, she nods at him, pretends she’s not anxious about his reaction. There's no need to worry, not really, because Red remains silent and bobs his head – he says nothing.

“I’m going to have a quick shower,” she says before exiting the room.

She’s glad she told him.

***

When Lizzie returns from her wash in a pair of tights and a loose t-shirt - she’s secretly thrilled she doesn’t have to dress up - there’s a plate of golden toasted sandwiches – cut into perfect triangles – resting on the table. Two tall glasses of orange juice sit on coasters, and she thinks it’s sweet he didn’t open the bottle of wine she had in the fridge. She’d love a glass but after the day she’s had she thinks it’s wise to stick to something non-alcoholic.

Her stomach grumbles just from looking at the oozing cheese. She hasn’t eaten all day and grilled cheese sandwiches sounds and _smells_ perfect. Unfortunately, Red hears her growling stomach too because he sneaks up behind her and brushes his palms up and down her bare arms.

“You sound hungry.”

And then he leans in closer from behind and presses his lips to her cheek.

“Thank you for before,” he whispers.

He steps beside her, and it’s all done – the kiss and thank you – in the space of a second or two.

Lizzie smiles at him, nods her head towards the plate of food.

“And thank you for dinner.”

“You’re very welcome.”

***

Lizzie pushes the blue ceramic plate towards Red. There’s one lonely half of a sandwich left, and she can’t eat another bite. Red seems to be able to put away any amount of food, no matter how full he is, so he takes it.

“I don’t eat nearly enough bread,” he tells her, taking a generous bite.

“I haven’t had grilled cheeses sandwiches since I was studying,” Lizzie responds, tracing patterns on her plate with her finger. “I lived off them for a while. That and spaghetti.”

She looks up and watches him swallow his last mouthful and dab at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. She had no idea she even had napkins. They were probably stored in the draw all her this-belongs-no-where items live. She bets Red doesn’t have one of those draws, and smiles inwardly when she thinks of Red looking through hers.

“You once told me you didn’t like cooking,” Red says.

“And I still don’t.”

“I’m sure with the right recipe and someone there to cook with you’d find it much more enjoyable.”

“Maybe,” Lizzie smiles. She rests her chin in her hand and wonders if that someone he’s referring to is him. She reaches for the plate in front of him and stands. “I can make a well-brewed herbal tea though. Would you like one?”

***

Liz decides on a green tea for them both and is relieved to find an old lemon in the vegetable compartment of her fridge. She begins to spoon honey into each mug when Red calls to her from the other room.

“Your phone is vibrating, Lizzie.”

“It’ll be Aram,” Lizzie says.

“Can you check it?”

“… I have no earthly idea how to use your phone. There are no buttons.”

Lizzie grins as she slices the lemon in half. She can see him peering at the screen. “Press the small side button and then swipe the screen.”

She waits for Red to complain again.

“Oh… would you look at that,” she hears. “Aram Mojtabai. Shall I read it?”

“Yeah. It’ll be about tomorrow.”

“He says… ‘out of the blue I know, but do you remember my friend Tim from my birthday drinks?’” Red calls out.

“What?” Lizzie frowns and washes the citrus juice off her hands.

“Tim,” Red responds loudly and he sounds so amused too. “Aram’s friend _Tim_. Would you like me to reply, Lizzie? Do you remember him?”

She pours hot water in to each mug and wonders why Aram would be asking her about Tim. The guy asked her out for dinner, and she politely declined – that was months ago she hasn’t spoken to him or about him since.

That was the night of her first phone call with Red.

“Uh,” Lizzie says, walking into the room. “That is out of the blue,” she agrees, taking the phone from Red's grip and placing his tea down in front of him. She glances at his expression and ignores him the best she can. She taps a quick reply to Aram, turns her phone over and slides it across the table. She sits down in her chair and avoids Red’s comical gaze. He can poke fun at her all he wants, but she will not react.

“Are you sure you didn’t want any wine?” she asks.

“This is fine,” Red says, and he thankfully lets the message go. She watches him lean over his tea, purse his lips and blow on it lightly. “Thank you. We’ll save the wine for tomorrow.”

Her phone vibrates again; it’s loud and jarring against the wood. Both she and Red snap their eyes to the noisy interruption. Lizzie sighs, acting nonchalant (like it’s absolutely nothing because it _is_ absolutely nothing). She reads it quickly and shrugs.

“So Tim. Who I met _briefly_ ,” she tells him. “Has his sister’s wedding. He wants someone to take.”

“You don’t need to explain to me, Lizzie,” Red says, all serious now and he shakes his head.

“I’m not going to go.”

Red’s eyebrows lift at her answer, and he runs the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip. Has he burnt it on the drink? Or is he distracting her? Her eyes flicker down to the slow movement.

“Maybe you should tell him you’re already seeing someone.”

Oh.

Lizzie parts her lips. Red's leaning in close now. She wasn’t expecting such forwardness from him - well, not right _now_ anyway. Are they going to go here now? Is this the beginning of the inevitable conversation? Her heart thumps in her chest.

“Am I?”

“Are you?”

Lizzie laughs; a short, sharp burst. Perhaps they won’t be having the conversation. She shakes her head at him.

“We are not playing this game.”

“I’d hardly say the possibility of a relationship between us is a game.”

"Well," Lizzie drawls, scrambling her brain for some witty reply or _something_ to shock his challenging gaze. She's put on the spot though, so she just tilts her chin down to eye him carefully. “I don’t think so either.”

 And then her phone vibrates.

***

Unfortunately, all good nights must come to an end. Especially when your date is – almost to the point of ridiculousness - concerned with your well-being and insists you need a full night sleep. Liz walks Red to her front door, wishes he didn’t have to go but doesn’t have the courage to ask him to stay longer or just _stay_.

“Your coat,” Lizzie remembers it draped over the sofa and darts away to collect it for him.

By the time she’s back, Red has finished tying up his shoe laces. She watches with delight as he pulls on his coat and buttons it up.

“Thank you, Lizzie.”

“No problem,” she opens the door and walks out with him to stand on the patio. The moons hidden behind the clouds, but it’s a still night and it’s good to be outside. Red places a hand at the small of her back.

“I’d suggest a walk, but I think it’s going to rain.”

“I thought you wanted me to go to bed.”

“And that,” Red responds, watching her. She's too busy looking for signs of rain, so his hand gradually moves up her back to rest at her shoulder. He turns her towards him and pulls her into his chest.

Lizzie welcomes the hug; she wraps her arms around his waist and rests her cheek against the buttons of his coat.

“How is your head now?” He asks quietly. “Still alright?”

“Yes.”

She feels his chest heave as he exhales a breath of air. “Call me if it get worse again.”

Liz nods then reluctantly lets him go. Red's hands settle on her waist just as the first drop of rain lands on the top of her head. She grins at him and pats her head.

“You were right,” she says, looking upwards .

“It's going to get heavy. You should go inside,” he says, giving her waist a final squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

“Hello.”

“I had a question for you,” Red says.

“Go on.”

“Chocolate or citrus?”

“Pardon?”

“Relevant, I promise.”

“Chocolate I suppose. But be warned, that won’t always be the answer.”

“Duley noted. Are you in bed yet, Lizzie?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“So, you called me to ask me if I preferred chocolate or citrus?”

“Mmm.” Red hums. “You bring out the foolish man in me, Lizzie. Using something so trivial as an excuse to hear your voice.”

“I guess I do.” Lizzie smiles. “By the way, since you’ve called, what are you doing on the fifteenth of next month?”

“No idea. Why do ask?”

“Well, that’s when the wedding is. And since I told Aram I was already seeing someone… I suppose you’ll be spending the day with me?”

The laugh in her ear is brilliant. 

“Only seems fair.”


	10. It won't stop us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red cooks for Lizzie & a phone call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is terribly late. I don't even want to look when i last updated it! I'm so sorry for those who were reading it!! I don't know what happened. But this story will be finishing. There is one chapter after this plus an epilogue!! And they will be out a thousand times faster. Sorry again! :)  
> I do not own The Blacklist or the characters

Lizzie is ten minutes early for her evening with Reddington. It’s not often she has time to nose on her neighbours; her blue eyes scan up and down the street. She hasn't made the effort to meet any one in the neighborhood yet, with work and ... work she can't seem to find the time. A poor excuse really, but she does make sure to say hello if she ever passes anyone on her weekend walks.

There’s a few kids skating on the sidewalk across the road. They are attempting tricks that would make any mother cringe. One kid attempts some sort of kick flip and lands awkwardly on his ankle. He seems fine though, and Liz is reminded how much she loves how fearless kids are.

And then there's an elderly woman from the house opposite her. The lady is hunched over her cranberry tree, picking off small red fruit. Liz rests her arm along the lid of the mailbox, closes her eyes against the sun. Maybe next summer she'll get into gardening. Maybe she will. It's always been something she's wanted to do.

It's late afternoon at the moment, but there is still enough light to warm her face. A loud cheer makes her open her eyes; the kids are giving high-fives and knocking fists together. Poking the tips of her fingers through the mouth of the letterbox, Liz wonders if she will ever have children, and what kind of mother would she be? One boy with his long fringe hanging over his eyes from beneath his helmet is doing some obsecure dance move, and Liz can’t help but chuckle.

She has a house now, a home, and a reasonable income. The thought of raising a child is still incredibly exciting for her she thinks; she still wants to do it. The part of her life with Tom has not tainted the idea of adopting a child. She'd like to hope she'd be a good mom. Aunt June was the closest thing she had to a mom when she was young. They didn't spend much time together, but the older woman was always loving towards her, squeezing her with big hugs and asking her about her day and the names of all her friends. Liz looks down at the letterbox she leans on and peers inside. Aunt June used to write her letters, now it's the odd email. Liz never gets any important mail anymore. When was the last time she received – or wrote for that matter – a hand written letter? She and Red could have communicated through letters instead of phone calls. Something tells her Red would have welcomed the idea. Lizzie smiles at the thought. 

Speak of the devil.

Red arrives five minutes early; she can see his car down the street.

  
She wonders if tonight is going to be a _big_ night. An hour was spent in bed this morning, rolling on her side, grinning and picturing Red in bed with her. At times it's a scene that frightens her. Then there are other times when it thrills and excites her, like right now. It is their third date though, only the third, so she’s not expecting anything. And in a way, deep down, she does want to take this slowly. Whatever _this_ is. But it’s perfectly fine to fantasize though, isn’t it?

She isn’t going to iniate anything further than a kiss tonight. If the moment is right, which it will be, she knows, she will kiss him. It’s been long enough. But god, she kind of hopes he's the one to go for it first. It would just be so much easier. At least she knows he will be a willing participant because he would, wouldn't he? Red labeled this a date. He practically claimed her as his when Tim invited her to be his wedding date. They just haven't had that talk yet, and that will happen soon, surely, she thinks so.

  
She watches Red pull up in his usual sleek, black car. The woman across the road lifts her head, tilts her sun visor up so she can get a good look. His car doesn't exactly look out of place here, but Lizzie doesn't get many vistors, especially ones dressed in suits. Red picking her up makes her smile. She hasn't dated like this in years.

Red peers through the tinted window, and Liz strolls towards his car as she hears the engine die. By the time she pulls open the passenger door, Red’s seatbelt is off, and his fingers are clasped around the inside handle of his own door.

  
“Hi,” she beams at him and slides into the beige leather seat. She makes quick work of her seatbelt and catches Red glancing at his watch.

  
“You’ve been waiting long?” he inquires, confused and put-out when his watch assures him he has arrived early.

  
“No,” she smiles, links her fingers on her lap.

There’s a laughter threatening to crawl up her throat and escape. Red can’t wrap his head around it: that Lizzie hasn’t waited patiently inside for him to knock on her front door, help her with her coat, and open the car door for her, just as any gentleman on the first few dates would do. Red would probably be the kind of man to carry on doing it even after a long marriage. Not that she is thinking about marriage, but she can imagine him being a doting husband. And she knows Red right now; he would have expected to do all those things for her. He would have have wanted to.

  
Red’s mouth opens to say something more, but the words don’t follow through, and he sits there for a moment with his mouth open. Finally, he turns the key and indicates out of the park. Liz holds in a snort, but smiles out her window. The air conditioning is on low and it’s refreshing. She rests back against her seat and enjoys the leather cooling her shoulders.

  
“How are you feeling today?”

  
“So much better,” Lizzie turns her head to look at him. “Which is good because I was able to be fairly productive today.”

  
“What did you get up to?”

  
“Did a whole lot of neglected house work. And I saw Aram for lunch.”

  
As he nods, Lizzie notices Red has shaved. His skin around his jaw is as smooth as the leather she sits on. She blatantly stares at him, finds she doesn't even care if he catches her.

Red does catch her eye, catches her staring. She's not quite sure what's wrong with her today, but she is seeing everything through rose-tinted glasses. She's glad he caught her because it allows her to make quick eye contact with him and she smiles. It has been a good day. Even this morning when she overcooked her egg for breakfast, she didn't follow through with her usual rant about the fact that she had followed the three minute rule, the temperature was in fact right, and it was the eggs that sucked.

She wonders if it has something to do with her migraine. Now that it has gone and she's had a long rest, she feels happy and full of energy.

  
“How is Aram?" Red asks her. "Has he managed to nab himself a date with Agent Navabi yet?”

  
“How do you know about that?”

  
“It’s written all over his face like an open diary. Well, it was. I haven’t stepped foot into that dungeon for months, thank _God_ , but I suspect his feelings haven’t changed.”

  
“They haven’t,” Lizzie agrees. “But there’s a risk, you know, relationships between colleagues...”

  
“I find that nonsense.”

  
“You think it’s nonsense?”

  
“I think rules made at work to stop people from enjoying _their_ personal lives are.”

  
“It can go horribly wrong,” Lizzie reasons.

  
“You have experience?”

  
“I’ve seen it in movies.”

  
Red laughs and nods his head. “You’re right. Agent Motjahbi will have to find someone else to fall in love with then.”

  
“I don’t think so,” Lizzie says. “Cooper is understanding.”

  
“To some degree.”

  
Lizzie peers at him. “You don’t think he’ll allow it?”

  
“I don’t think he’d allow us.”

Lizzie looks towards the dashboard, surprised at his comment. She gives him a side glance.

“And when has Cooper’s disapproval ever stopped you from doing anything?” 

  
“It hasn’t,” Red quickly smiles at her. “Which is why, Lizzie, I’m going to pull over just here… ”

She looks out the side window, scrunches her eyebrows together as Red turns the car off down a narrow drive.

“And purchase some fish for dinner.”

  
“What?”

  
“A good friend of mine, Angelo, he sells fresh fish. Mm. Just caught today. You do like fish, don’t you?”

  
“Uh, yeah.” Lizzie replies, ducks her head to look out Red’s window at a blue and white pop-up store.

“I’ve never heard of Catch & Go before… ”

  
“Neither had I until a year or two ago. Trust me. You’ll love this. Would you like to choose or stay?”

  
“I’ll… come and have a look,” Lizzie replies, watching the stall sceptically. “What does you having to buy fish got to do with Cooper anyway? Is he selling undersized?”

  
“Heavens no,” Red responds, opening his door. “All is perfectly legal, I assure you. And what it has to do with Cooper is that I will be cooking you dinner… And I’m sure nothing would annoy Harold more than me impressing his young Agent with my culinary skills.”

  
Lizzie rolls her eyes as she hops out of the car. She smiles at him over the roof of the car.

“You’re not at all confident are you?”

 

* * *

 

 

Cooper was in trouble. If cooking was the way to a young agent’s heart, then Lizzie was undoubtedly in love with Reddington. If Red wasn’t in the business of ... his business, she'd tell him to buy a knife set and get cooking.

  
“Okay," she admits. "I regret telling you 200 grams each was enough; this fish is amazing.”

  
Red eyes her plate from the other side of the small table they sit at. He looks amused and tilts his head towards her plate.

  
“I see your one of those people that eat the nicest thing on the plate first,” he muses, takes a small sip of his white wine. The salad and baby potaoes on Lizzie's plate are untouched, but not one flake of fish, or the lemon butter sauce, can be seen.

Liz looks down at her own plate and shrugs.

"Sam always told me to eat the food that was best hot first.”

  
“Fair advice,” Red murmurs, circling his fingers around the stem of his wine glass. He raises it to his lips as he looks at her. “Did you ever go fishing with Sam?”

  
“I caught my first fish when I was ten. But I …" she grins at the memory. "I remember holding it up for a photo. Sam was so proud… rustling around in his pack for the camera… And I just looked at the fish and suddenly felt awful, and I threw it back in the ocean before he retrieved the camera.”

Red laughs lightly. He can picture the horrified expression on Sam’s face in an instance. 

  
“Do you fish? Or did you fish?” Lizzie asks him.

  
“I did," Red nods and clears his throat. He stretches back in seat, crosses his arms over his chest. "A long time ago now. The last time I went was with Dembe. Many years ago. He had never been before and within half an hour he had caught one and had three other significant bites. I didn’t catch any all day, not even a nibble, but it was worth the long hours seeing Dembe’s absolute delight at his catch. ”

  
“Did you ever go with Sam?”

  
“No. I would have liked to.”

  
Lizzie nods and prods a small potato with her fork. She plops in her mouth and smiles at him. Now she thinks about it, it is strange being at the Hemstead house without Dembe’s presence.

  
“When are you heading off again?”

  
“I’ve made no arrangements as of yet,” Red responds absently. He picks up his fork again and pierces a cherry tomato.

  
“You don't need to get back?”

  
“I probably should. I imagine Dembe will ring tomorrow.”

"Did you tell him you were visiting me?"

"Not outright, no," he looks up and tilts his head to the side. "But I'm sure he will have guessed."

 

* * *

 

 "Film or music?"

"What do I like better?" Lizzie asks as she follows Red into the living room. They had just finished cleaning up in the kitchen, and Red had suggested they sit for a bit before dessert.

Red places both their wine glasses on the coffee table, and Lizzie sits on one end of the sofa.

"I mean for now. Would you prefer to watch something? Or listen to something."

"Oh," Liz replies. "Music?"

Watching a film with Red has been something she's wanted to do for so long. But if he is leaving in a day or two, she'd rather spend the time they have talking to each other.

She watches him walks over to the dusty record player. He spends some time scanning through his music choices, and he holds a couple up for her to see. She points to a random one only because the light blue case was a nice colour. She doesn't recognize the music once it's on, but it's instrumental and jazzy, cozy.

Red sits on the other end of the couch, grabs his wine and turns his body towards her.

"So what is your favorite film?" he asks.

* * *

 

 "Do you miss the Post Office?"

"Some days," Red responds. He sits his empty glass back on the coffee table and leans down.

Red gently wraps a hand around each of Lizzie's ankles and lifts her legs off the floor. Lizzie widens her eyes, wonders what on earth is he doing, but she twists her body towards him when he places her feet in his lap.

"May I?" he asks, smiling at her.

Lizzie swallows, blinks at his palms running along the arch of both of her sock-covered feet. She tightens her hold on the wine glass.

"Okay."

Red presses his thumbs firmer into her feet, and moves them in small circles. Lizzie manages to suppress a moan, but sinks further into the couch. She's not completely on her back, but she may as well be. After the initial warm up of both feet, Red focuses on one foot at a time. Her feet are in heaven, and she can't take her eyes off his hands.

"I miss the good work we did, watching you work," Red says deeply, referring to her earlier question. "And it was enlightening to see Agent Cooper leading you all."

"Yeah?" Lizzie murmurs, failing to sound interested. But she is interested, she is very interested, but his hands on her feet are magic and far too distracting.

And here she thought the head massage was good.

Red hums and his fingers slip under the cuffs of her jeans. He pulls both her socks off.

"You don't have to..." she starts to say, feeling a little awkward at her bare feet in his hands.

"But I want to," he responds and moves further towards his side of the couch to give her more room. "Lie down, Lizzie."

Liz hesitates, but thinks what the hell this is too good of a gesture to pass up. She places her wine glass on the ground and does as he says. She isn't tired, so she knows she won't fall asleep. She stretches out on the couch, and once she is comfortable, Red begins his massage again. It really is too much, too good. She rolls her head to the side, trying to hide at least some of the pleasure she feels.

"How about you, Lizzie? Do you still enjoy your work?" 

"What is work?" She mumbles back, half joking and half serious. "Don't ever stop."

* * *

 

 "Thank you for tonight," Lizzie says when she takes his offered hand and steps out of his car. She feels almost floppy she is so relaxed. Good food, good company, and a foot massage? She muses inwardly that she would have dated Red long ago if she knew this was what she was in for. "It was fun. And you out did yourself with dessert. I'm thoroughly impressed."

"Ah," Red keeps her small hand tucked in his as they wander up her driveway. "I'm glad. I'd of hated to end the night on a subpar dessert and left a bitter taste in your mouth."

"Well you don't have to worry," she replies. "It was very impressive, Red."

"These are new," he comments, pointing at the little lights lining her driveway.

"My solar lights," Lizzie responds. "I've had them for ages, only put them in today. They're for all my late night visitors so they can see in the dark. Much safer."

Red smiles down at her. "Do you get a lot of late night visitors?"

"No," Lizzie laughs. "None."

"Well, they are practical and they do look good," Red responds. He releases her hand, so she can find her key chain in her bag.

"I'll see you tomorrow perhaps?" he asks.

Liz stops trying to find the right key, pauses, and then nods her agreement. She had planned to invite him inside for a drink, but now the idea seems silly. He came to drop her off. They've just spent the entire evening together and it's getting on. Red probably needs to schedule his return back to where ever, and she should probably just soak in the tub and read the book she promised herself she'd start.

"Sure. We could do lunch?" she finally replies, and looks through her keys again. She finds the right one, unlocks the door and pushes it open. "Thank you again. I had a great time with you."

Red watches her and doesn't move until she steps inside her home.

"Tomorrow then," she says and smiles at him once more before closing the door.

She drops her bag as soon as she's inside and leans back against the door. She lets out a breath and shakes her head. She can hear Red clear his throat outside. Then she hears his footsteps.

What is she doing? He literally flew from God knows where to take her out and she can't even iniate one kiss? Or a thank you hug at least? She has no idea what has her so flustered with him because she feels so comfortable with him. She should have asked him to come in, just to be polite, and he could have declined. Why is she nervous with him? Is it the fact that he's Raymond Reddington? And every one of her colleagues would judge the hell out of her? Or is it just because she actually _likes_ him. She likes him more than she thought she ever would.

Lizzie grabs her bag off the floor and pulls out her phone. She dials his number quickly before she can change her mind. Ridiculous really, calling him after shutting the door in his face only moments before. 

He answers after the second ring.

"Lizzie?"

"Hey. Uh... did you want to stay for a bit? Have a drink? I should have asked before. Sorry."

"Sure. Shall I come back now?"

Liz peeks out her front window. His car lights are on, but his door is open. 

"Yes."

"... Lizzie, I want you to know again that I'm never going to rush you. With anything. Or expect anything from you. This is very new for me too, but I don't want you to ever feel pressured."

Lizzie shakes her head despite knowing he can't see her.

"You don't make me feel pressured."

She watches as his car's headlights switch off and he steps back out of the car.

"That's a relief."

Lizzie steps away from the window to turn some of the lights inside her house on. The phone is still to her ear when Red opens the front door. He smiles at her and pockets his phone. 

"You and I have a thing for phone calls," he says, shrugging off his jacket.

"I guess we do," she grins and tosses her phone on the couch. "Drink?"

"Coffee, please," Red responds, closes the front door and follows her into the kictchen. He stands next to her as she fixes them a cup both.

"Bit late for coffee isn't it?" She asks.

When he doesn't reply she turns to look up at him and Red leans down and presses a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Not if we're going to talk all night." 

"You want to talk more?"

"Always. With you."

She smiles and hears the jug click off behind her but makes no move towards it. Instead, Lizzie watches her own hand rest on his stomach then curl around his waist. She glances up at him a little shyly and steps closer.

"How come you always know the right thing to say?"

He's the perfect height for her to brush the tip of her nose across his chin. She can smell the aftershave on him still, feel the smooth skin there.

"I don't know if that's quite true, Lizzie."

"You make me feel comfortable even when I'm nervous," she responds.

"Why are you nervous?"

Lizzie avoids his eyes and stares at his ear lobe, then travels her gaze across his jaw, stopping at his lips. Red's hands have been hanging loosely at his sides, but he finally lifts one behind her and rubs his palm in a circle on her back.

"I don't really know," Lizzie replies and presses her lips just below his cheek.

She pulls back to look at him and while his arm is still soothing her back, his eyes are now closed. She stares at his eyelashes for a moment, then kisses him again, down by his jaw this time. She presses another kiss under his chin. She peers up at him but his eyelids are still shut. 

"You alright?" she asks, pressing a couple of soft kisses down his neck then back up to his jaw.

"Yes." Red responds quietly. "This just feels wonderful."

Lizze watches his lips spread into a lazy smile and his eyes open slowly. 

"Hello," he greets.

Lizzie smiles back and kisses him again on the cheek. She wraps her other arm around him and waits for him to do the same. Then, when she is warm in his arms and up against his chest, she kisses his cheek again. She leaves her lips on his skin and drags them slowly down to his lips

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That phone call was cheesy as but i was like 'i can't have a chapter without a phone call!!' lol


	11. One Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie and Red spend a little more time together and, while Lizzie learns a few things about Red, she begins to question their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That finale... *sighs the biggest sigh in the history of sighs* *rolls eyes out of their sockets and into space* ;) It's moments like these we must bombard the world with Lizzington!

Liz presses an experimental kiss to Red's lips and then pulls away.

She's close enough to rest her forehead on his shoulder and stay there for a moment, and she's close enough to kiss him again, and this time for longer, but she waits for his eyes to pop open instead. She wants to see his reaction. When his eyelids do flutter, and she catches a glint of green, she smiles. Their lips are both dry, the kiss was about as innocent as a peck on a grandmother's cheek, but Red looks absolutely delighted with it. He looks like a school boy who's been served an extra scoop of chocolate chip ice cream for dessert.

"Good?" he asks her, and his voice lacks its usual sheen.

"Yeah."

She watches silently as Red gets distracted by the pink that has risen on her cheeks. His lips twitch proudly at the color, and his body slants towards her.

In the kitchen, with the room beginning to smell like coffee, and Liz's heart beginning to race as if it's gulped down a thermos of coffee, Liz watches Red exhales a breath between his teeth. He observes her closely, as if trying to assess whether he should kiss her. He must see something encouraging in her face, because he leans in closer.

* * *

 

Something different happens to Liz when Red kisses her.

Her body feels overly sensitive, attuned to everything. Physically, she feels mountains when she kisses him, but she thinks of nothing.

Red leads the kiss with a confidence that is expected, and it excites her. Her stomach muscles quiver when his tongue slips gently into her mouth, and when they touch for the first time, her knees go absolutely weak. She focuses on his thumb, and the slow back-and-forth pattern it brushes over her right cheek bone. There's a tickle from his small finger as it presses against the skin below her ear. Her ears were ringing with heat when she kissed him before, but now she hears only their breathing; his nose is squished against her own, but surprisingly, she doesn't find it uncomfortable.

The hand Liz has settled comfortably around Red's waist crawls up the front of his shirt and rests on his chest. It's a place she has wanted to touch for a long time. A place that she's touched once before but under very different circumstances. She runs her thumb over the spot she thinks his scar may be, then finds the thump of his heart and squeezes the material of his shirt in her fist. The action makes Red move closer to her, and the hand that she has hanging at her side trembles.

Red slows the kiss considerably, slides his tongue out of her mouth and presses a few kisses to her lips before pulling away and resting his cheek again her own. She hears his heavy breathing in her ear, the thick sound of his swallows, and Liz finally has a chance to _think,_ and she thinks that kissing Red is something that she has wanted to do for so much longer than she had initially thought.

Screw the consequences, she thinks. She'll tell Cooper on Friday. She'll explain the situation and he will understand, won't he? Red peppers kisses along her cheek, mumbles something about sweet and good, finds her lips again and kisses her deeply. Red taste nice, she thinks lazily. Like the white wine they had after dinner and the dark chocolate mousse they devoured for dessert. Red taste _wonderful_. But he is wonderful. It should come to no surprise. And Cooper knows they have kept in contact; he won't even be shocked with the development in her and Red's relationship. And Red can come back. Red will come back, of course he will come back. If he can come back, she thinks. 

If he wants to come back.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Red slips his hand to the back of her head, threads his fingers through her hair, and holds her closer to him, but Lizzie startles. 

“Sorry,” she pulls away.

“Sorry,” Red apologizes straight after, blinks to focus on his hand entangled in her hair. He gently extracts it and looks concerned. "Did I hurt you?"

“No," Lizzie almost whimpers at the loss of contact when he steps back, at her distracted thoughts ruining a good thing. "What do you mean?"

"I thought the," Red swallows, gestures with his finger and waves them at the back of his own head. "The hand in the hair thing," he clears his throat. 

Lizzie grins and raises her eyebrows so they sit high on her forehead.

"It was good. It was... nice," she tilts her head at him and then glances towards the coffee maker. "Did you still want that coffee?"

"Of course."

His reply is quick, and Red moves behind her to grab the coffee that has already been prepared. He places it on the bench she leans against and then turns again to open the fridge. "Smells brilliant," he adds and comes back to stand next to her with a carton of milk in his grip. 

He stands close enough that their shoulders touch, and Liz finds herself resting firmly against him. Red splashes a dash of milk in each mug then fills them high with the hot coffee. He slides a mug in front of her.

"I'm sure it will taste... _sensational,_ " he continues.

"It's only store bought."

"Unique... _Enthralling_. Drinking good coffee is like being throughly kissed," Red sighs.

Lizzie curls her hand around the handle of her mug, lifts it to her lips and hides her smile behind the rim. 

"Sounds like you have a real thing for coffee," she says.

"Delicious," Red murmurs, bumping her shoulder gently. They stand in silence as they drink their coffees, and Liz is at a loss for words. Before she has a chance to ask him what the weather is expected to be like tomorrow, Red removes the mug from her hand, and places it on the bench in front of them.

He turns to look at her. "How are you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?"

"About recent events."

"You mean our kiss?" 

Red smiles. "Our kiss," he agrees.

His lips are moist now which is most likely from the coffee, but Liz likes to think that she made them like that. And she gave them a bit more color. 

"We took our time," Lizzie smiles softly, looks back up at him. "But it was worth the wait..."

"I'm so glad you think that," he responds, and Liz is sure she detects a hint of relief in his tone. But his hesitancy doesn't last long, of course. Red reaches a hand up and drags his thumb along her lower lip. 

"... _Elizabeth Keen,"_ he says.

Liz darts her tongue out unconsciously to lick her lips, but instead she flicks his thumb by accident. His eyes droop at the movement, and he removes his thumb to look at it.

"Hm," he hums.

"What?"

"You're a wonderful kisser."

She smiles. "And you thought I wouldn't be?"

"Oh, no," Red laughs loudly and slips a couple of fingers under her chin. "I've always imagined you to be _very_  good."

 

* * *

 

"So this is about as exciting as my Wednesday nights get," Lizzie exclaims over her shoulder as she leads Red into her bedroom. 

She holds both coffees, which they have refilled, and Red follows behind her with a folded newspaper under his arm that he swiped from the dining table as they passed. It feels quite cozy and domestic having him here, but she doesn't mention this to Red. The word 'future' blinks brightly in her mind, but she quickly squashes it. She can't be thinking of a future with Red, not when the future is so unpredictable, especially for them.

She places both coffees onto her bedside table and turns to watch Red as he takes in her bedroom. It's a space no other man has been, excluding the men who helped her move in of course, but it's a big step for her and Red. She watches him bend over and undo his laces then toe off his shoes and line them neatly by the door. He loosens his tie but doesn't remove it and walks over to the end of her bed. He looks completely at ease, like he's done this a million times before. He tosses the newspaper up by the pillows and smiles at her.

"Would you like me to take you out dancing instead?" 

"Maybe next time," she chuckles. 

As if to reassure her, Red steps closer and reaches down to give her hand a squeeze.

"Next time." 

 

* * *

 

"Eleven down is Edmond."

" _Lizzie_ ," Red drops the paper on his outstretched legs and rolls his head to the side to look at her. "I thought we were starting at the beginning and making our way down."

"But I didn't know the next one."

"It's called team work, Agent Keen. Surely Harold encourages this within the taskforce."

"We are doing a crossword, not capturing an international arms dealer who has seven fingers and a unruly moustache," Lizzie bites back.

"Are you talking about Robert Ald-"

"Yes. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that you got the last three and-"

"I always thought it was eight fingers," Red wonders aloud.

"He lost one last year in a "skiing" accident."

"Did he! My God!"

"You _believe_ that? The guy's a pathological liar! And not a very good one. I cant wait until I can get back and wipe that... Oh you'll never guess what happened. Ressler and I..." She pauses when she sees him on the verge of laughing. "What?"

"You sound eager to work again."

"I do?"

"A tad."

Liz huffs and leans back against the headboard. "You think so? It's only been two days."

"Sometimes that's all it takes," Red smiles, folds the newspaper and tosses it on the floor. "Tell me some work stories. It seems I've been missing out on all the fun at the Post Office."

* * *

Liz leaves Red in her bedroom while she escapes to the bathroom. Usually, she would shower and change into her sleepwear, but because she doesn't want to assume Red is staying the night, she stays in the clothes she already has on. She washes the make up off her face, moisturizes and brushes her teeth. She looks in the mirror before she exits the bathroom and prepares herself to find Red in his coat ready to leave.

But Red is in the same place she left him; he's on her bed, on his back and staring up at the ceiling. His ankles are crossed and he looks to be in deep thought; he makes no monement when she enters.

"Would you like another drink or anything?" She asks quietly, walks over to her wardrobe and opens it; she peers inside for no reason at all but pretends she's looking for something.

"I'm fine," Red responds and groans as he sits upright. Liz looks around her wardrobe door and watches him rub his shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," he presses the tips of his fingers into the skin just above his shoulder blades. "My shoulder is playing up."

"What do you mean 'playing up'?" Liz walks over and climbs onto the bed. "When did you hurt it?"

"Months ago. It's alright now," he rotates his shoulders once then leaves it. "You look beautiful, Lizzie," he smiles. "It seems like a life time ago now, but do you remember when we used to bump into each other before bed at all the little hideaways we stayed at while clearing your name?"

"How did you hurt your shoulder?"

"How did you get your hair to stay like that on top of your head?"

"You're ridiculous," she laughs but doesn't probe him any further. "And yes, I remember being the only one who actually wore sleepwear. You slept in your suit."

"You don't know what I wore once I closed my door at night," Red responds in a sing-song voice. "I'm sure you'd be rather surprised."

"Uh huh," Liz clicks her tongue. She gances at the digital clock on her bedside table. It's almost midnight, but the two mugs of coffee have begun to work and she's wide awake. She drags her gaze down Red's body and stops at his feet. He has black, woolen socks on and an idea springs to mind. Liz shuffles down the bed, takes a foot in her hand, but the action startles Red so much he jolts and swings his feet over the side of her bed.

"What are you doing?" 

Liz widens her eyes at his abruptness. Confused, she says, "Repaying the favour?"

The frown on his face softens. "You don't have to do that."

She raises and eyebrow and wraps a hand around his calf. She tries to pull his legs back on the bed. "Why? Are you ticklish?"

"No. Lizzie don't-" Red grabs her hand.

"You _are_  ticklish."

Red looks offended. "I'm not ticklish. I just have sensitive soles..."

"Sensitive soles?" Lizzie snorts. "So in other words, you're ticklish."

Red brings her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles. He peers at her. "Don't tell anyone, Lizzie. Very, very few people know... And I don't just tell anyone."

"Hmm?" Liz leaves the bottom of the bed and crawls back up to sit next to him. Interested, she says, "So I know a secret about you."

Red pushes lightly on her shoulder until she flops onto her back. He lays down next to her and turns to face her. She takes note that he's resting on his good shoulder and reminds herself to ask Dembe how Red hurt it.

"You do," he says.

"Well, feel free to share some more."

 

* * *

 

"Red," Lizzie mumbles, rubs her forehead on his chest and opens her eyes for half a second before closing them again. He must have switched the lamp off because the room is dark.

"Mm?" His hand rubs her back.

"Are you going to stay the night?"

She hears him laugh and feels the vibrations of it rumble through his chest. 

"If you don't mind," he whispers into her ear.

"I want you to..." she yawns. "Didn't know if you wanted to."

"Of course I want to. You should go back to sleep, Lizzie. It's late."

Mustering up some effort, Liz lifts her head off his chest and squints at the red numbers glowing on her clock. It's almost three in the morning. She doesn't know how long she has been asleep, but she's pretty sure it hasn't been long.

"It is late."

"Too much talking," Red responds.

Liz drops her head back on his chest and grins. "I can't believe you wet your bed until you were-"

"Sweetheart," Red interrupts. "Remember I told you secrets you promised not to repeat."

She chuckles and moves her face to hide in the curve of his neck. She presses her lips to the skin there.

"Gonna tell Ressler," she murmurs.

"Sleep," he says quietly.

"And Dembe."

"Lizzie."

"Taskforce too."

* * *

 

At eleven in the morning, Liz is woken to the angry ring of her phone. Groaning, seconds away from cursing, she blindly stretches out an arm and pats the bedside table until she finds her phone.

"...Hello?" She grumbles.

"Keen."

"Ress- Ressler." She blinks, sits up too quickly that she feels dizzy. "Hey. Hello. What's going on?"

"You seen Reddington?"

"What?" She looks beside her. The man in question is laying on his stomach next to her. He is already awake and watching her. "No. No, I havent seen him. Why?"

"Need to talk to him. Called Dembe and he seems to think Reddington's in the city. He's been calling him all morning. No answer. Thought maybe he'd turn up on your doorstep."

"I haven't heard from him," Liz glares down at Red but he only smiles in response. "I don't know _why_ he wouldn't be answering Dembe's calls." 

Red takes her left hand in his and entwines their fingers. He burrows his head into the pillow and closes his eyes.

"Dembe said you might have another number you can try?"

"I... Yes. Yes, I think I might have a number somewhere. I will ring him... And hopefully get hold of him. You want me to get him to call you?"

"Yeah. Thanks. Oh and Keen? Good to see you're making the most of the sun this morning."

"Shut up," Liz replies. "I've just been for a run."

"I think it's more likely I woke you up," Ressler responds. "See you tomorrow."

Liz hangs up and stares down at Red. He purposely keeps his eyes closed, so she extracts her hand from his and nudges him on the back.

"Dembe has been calling you."

Red blinks his eyes open. "Good morning." 

"Where's your phone?"

"In my jacket. Has anyone ever told you-"

"Go get your phone. Call Dembe and then Ressler."

"There is really know need to rush, Lizzie," he answers lightly. "Donald can relax. Lie down with me," he finds her hand and tugs on it.

"I just _lied_ to Ressler and this is about a _case_ ," Liz replies seriously. "Call him."

Red locks eyes with her for a moment but reluctantly listens to her and climbs off the bed.

"And maybe Dembe's worried," she adds.

"Dembe will not be worried. He will know exactly where I am and who I am with," he responds. "He has not called you, has he?"

Liz looks down at her phone and presses the side button. "No."

"All is fine then," he looks down at his wrinkled shirt and pats at it. "I'll be back after a long, suffering call with Agent Ressler. Please stay in bed. I'll make you coffee."

Liz watches him walk out of her room in crinkled clothes and woolen socks, and her annoyance from waking late and lying to Ressler melts away.

"Red..." 

"Hm?" He turns at the door way.

"Good morning."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters. If you're still with me, thank you for reading :)


End file.
